What Becomes of the Broken Hearted
by PookatheCat
Summary: After the death of his beloved Warden King Alistair needs to find a wife. Easier said than done when a wife is the last thing on his mind and there's a conspiracy to get rid of the newly minted king. Post-Origins, Alistair POV, Alistair/surana-past, Alistair/Cousland-present
1. The Eligible Bachelor

**Summary:**

"I am Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden and - according to Eamon - eligible bachelor and I am looking for a wife... Well, actually Eamon is looking for a wife. Not for himself. For me. He already has one... Oh well, there's no accounting for taste... Anyway, the wife-hitch... I wish what they say about the Fade Spirits was true, dream about your baby and POOF! there it is... Would save me from meeting a selection of more or less suitable noblewomen in a competition to marry me... Am I the only one to think this sounds like a joke? Surana would laugh her ass off for sure... if she was here... I so wish she was here..."

Alternate Roristair-Universe where Rori Cousland isn't the Warden. It all starts as a matchmaking farce - but soon becomes dead serious And both find themselves in the maelstrom of a dangerous intrigue.  
 **_**  
 **Note:**

This is actually part 3 of the Roristair-series. It is **not** necessary to read the other parts of the series first. And at the moment the first two parts aren't available on FF as they are both rated Explicit due to excessive lamppost lickingt. (I am working on toning Part 1 - In Good Times And In Bad, an Origins-retelling, Alistair POV, Alistair/Cousland down to Mature. As it is a 100 Chapter work with fanart and such it might take a while, though.)

Enjoy reading.

_  
Chapter 1 - The Eligible Bachelor

It was a stupid idea.

Surana would have laughed her ass off.

Eamon, however, insisted it was the best way to find a wife for me. That I didn't want to find a wife didn't matter in the least. Kings must have heirs and unfortunately, the tale about the spirits of the Fade isn't true. So, four months after Suri's death, when the fact she was gone for good had still not fully sunken in, I found myself welcoming several young noble ladies Eamon had chosen as possible wives. I was supposed to get to know them during the coming weeks and then make a choice.

Doom!

DOOM!

Needless to say, I wasn't very thrilled. Suri's ghost, her memory, was still haunting me.

She had given my life happiness. Now, it still had meaning but there was no joy. I very much doubted I would ever recover from the loss. She wouldn't have wanted me to give up or accept defeat, but I had always been weaker than she had believed me to be. She had always said I deserve happiness for I was a man with a heart of gold.

Yeah, golden...

Her golden boy hadn't hesitated to dump her after she had made him king. The heir, the danger of a kingdom falling apart, of another civil war, my duty... It had broken my heart but I had forced myself to cut the bond between us—quickly, mercilessly. I had hoped it would be less painful. Well, to err is human. Ripping my own heart out—and Suri's—had been raw torture and what followed could only be described as nothing less than perdition.

If she had been angry... If she had shouted at me... If she had insulted me... that I could have tolerated. That, I would have understood. Instead, she had smiled sadly, tears welling up in her eyes, and she wished me farewell. She had told me not to look back and to seek happiness. Even then she had insisted I deserved it!

Maker, I felt more evil than the archdemon only thinking about it!

She had held herself well the following days. Riordan's revelation hadn't made her waver. And when the final battle had come, she had fought without fear; her determination an inspiration for those who followed her into battle. By then I had already made a decision. My life for hers. I owed her that much. But she wouldn't let me pay my debt.

It tore me apart. I was but a shadow of my former self, functioning like I was expected to because there was a kingdom to rule. That was the only reason why I was doing like Eamon said.

Listlessly I greeted the ladies, one after another without really noticing them. I was all dressed up like a peacock and whenever Eamon reminded me, I at least tried to act as if I cared. I doubt the ladies even noticed. They could have put a monkey on the throne and they still would have scratched each other's eyes out just to become queen.

Finally, they stopped coming and I snapped out of my stupor.

"Done?" I asked Eamon hopefully.

"There's one missing..."

I groaned loudly when the lord Stewart announced Teyrn Fergus Cousland and his sister, Lady Rori Cousland of Highever. The lord Stewart stepped aside and I straightened and switched on my fake smile, expecting the guests to enter.

Only they didn't.

Instead, there was a ruckus. Teyrn Fergus cried out and cursed loudly. "Stop her for fuck's sake!"

Eamon had a facepalm moment. Teagan and I looked at each other and shrugged, then hurried towards the door just in time to see Fergus Cousland and six knights trying to catch a short young woman with a mess of curly red hair. Unlike the other ladies I had met this afternoon, she was not wearing a dress but a huntress' gear. She was as lithe as a cat and as hard to get. She sidestepped her pursuers gracefully, dodged and tripped them, squirmed free of their grasps until the men were all run down. Finally, she fled onto the chandelier by using one of the knights as a stepladder. There she sat, dangling her feet, and did not intend to come down anytime soon.

Eamon was highly indignant. I was highly amused.

"Pup, be reasonable!" Fergus panted, resting his hands on his knees to stop himself from tumbling over. "He's the king. The best match you could hope for. Especially a woman in your situation should call herself lucky and show some gratitude!"

"Then why don't you marry him if he's such a good catch?" the girl retorted. "I myself have no intention to do so."

Ha! The whole afternoon I had spent with young ladies who were so determined to marry me they even forced themselves to laugh at my lamest jokes. And finally there was one even less thrilled by this whole farce than me. I liked her instantly.

"You need someone to take care of you," her brother insisted.

"I can very well take care of myself," she snapped.

"Indeed. You proved that well when you allowed Howe to take you captive," the teyrn growled.

That shut her up rather effectively. A shadow cast over her face, a haunted look appeared in her eyes and it seemed as if she was going to give in, but then she crossed her arms defiantly. Good girl. I would have been seriously disappointed to see her resistance broken. "What if he picks his nose?" she sulked. "And eats it!"

"Only with gravy," I chuckled on entering the room. Fergus turned a whiter shade of pale at my appearance. While he still stammered an apology, his sister cheekily replied: "I prefer it in a pie."

"With whipped cream," I added, coming to a halt under the chandelier. I had to crane my neck to look at her. She was like a little imp, her red curls bouncing when she laughed, her large blue eyes gleaming with mirth. It was rather contagious and much to my surprise she had me laugh for real for the first time this day... in weeks actually, come to think of it. Once I realized what I was doing I felt guilty because I wasn't mourning Suri properly. She would have slapped the back of my head for the mere thought. And still I felt like I was betraying her, like casting a shadow on her memory whenever I didn't castigate myself in anything I did, said, thought...

"You have exquisite taste, your Majesty," the girl grinned.

"A compliment I gladly return."

"We should share our recipes eventually."

"Absolutely. Maybe you could come down, though. My neck is rather stiff already."

"Alright. Coming..." And she let herself drop off the chandelier, landing gracefully in front of me. Much to Fergus's and Eamon's relief, she then went through the formal greeting like a good girl.

Later when my guests assembled for a pre-dinner drink, I saw her again, now wearing a simple green dress. Next to her the other women looked like candy dolls. Her mirth had disappeared and left her brooding and withdrawn into herself. She was very uncomfortable with all the people around, and she was the only one not to enter the competition of who would impress me most. Everybody either had a self-made gift for me or some performance. I received a wall hanging, a housing, a painting, and so on. Then there were the songs, the dances, some played the lute, some the harp.

I was pretty sure I would end up with a serious muscle hangover from all the fake smiling. Maker! I was so thankful when they were all finally through. I probably would have married one of them right then to make them stop.

And that was when Fergus Cousland said with a smile as fake as mine: "Rori, don't you want to perform for King Alistair as well?"

Judging from the look on her face, she could think of nothing she would like to do less. With a sigh she rose, stepped forward, and regarded me thoughtfully until her brother urged: "Now, Rori, what is your special talent?"

With the utmost sobriety she answered, looking me straight in the eyes: "I can burp the chorus of the Soldier and the Seawolf."

I spat out the wine I had been drinking, right across Prudence Franderell's dress. I laughed so hard, Teagan still had to slap my back to keep me from suffocating.

"Very funny," Fergus said icily. "No, you can't."

"I can!" Rori insisted. "Mum, Uncle Angus, and Uncle Ronan could even burp a canon." She inhaled deeply but before she could utter a single sound, Eamon jumped from his chair and shooed everybody into the dining hall.

Too bad. I swear, she would have made my day.

"You are here to become his wife, not his court jester!" Fergus hissed at his sister when he thought I couldn't hear him.

"He looked as if he needed a jester far more than a wife," Rori replied softly.

Unfortunately she was silent during dinner and I was forced to make conversation with Habren Bryland. Alright, it was her making conversation with me. For my part, there was a lot of "Hmm... Uh-huh..." and so on. Most of her sentences started with "My daddy" and were about something he had bought for her or about something she wished he would buy. She seemed to be very fond of animals... The sentiment wasn't mutual as she reported the deaths of several of her furry friends. They had my deepest sympathy. Death, however, did seem the lesser of two evils when the other one was spending a life with Habren.

Then she started to inform me why she was the best choice for me, not caring at all that her competition could clearly hear her.

"Chastity is very important for an unmarried woman, don't you think?" she said sweetly, pointedly staring at Rori Cousland. The ginger pretended not to hear and listlessly pushed her food around on her plate. "What man would want a woman already... used? The mere thought is disgusting. I would rather die than allow a man to defile my reputation and purity. I wouldn't dare to hope to find a honorable husband with my own honor tarnished..." And she went on and on and on. I wished she would stop. Or someone would stop her.

And that's when Rori Cousland did me the favor. She excused herself, then silently she rose from her seat, walked around the table with ladylike dignity, grabbed Habren Bryland by her hair, and slammed her face into the cream cake on her plate. Then she left as if nothing had happened while Habren screamed bloody murder, her face covered with a mask of cream.

Priceless!

"That woman is a disgrace," Eamon remarked sourly.

"I like her," I said much to my chancellor's dismay. Everybody agreed she had behaved terribly. To me, she was putting my feelings into action. She rebelled openly while I only sat there and endured silently. And for that, she was my heroine. I awaited every new outburst with glee.

"You can't be serious!" he hissed. "If not for her brother I wouldn't have considered her at all. Teyrn Cousland is a powerful ally but Lady Habren is right: This woman is no option!"

"Oh, I don't know..." I said, feeling like a rebel myself.

Rori didn't return. Habren unfortunately did after she had cleaned her face. I suffered through dinner and then fled into my office, claiming I had work to do. It wasn't a lie; I had tons of work. I just wasn't feeling much like working. Instead I got drunk, bawled like a cry baby, felt very sorry for myself and in my mind, talked to Suri. She said I should stop whining, pull myself together, and live my blasted life. She had always been quite bossy. Later that night I wandered through my palace, bottle of wine in hand. When it was empty, I closed the gauntlet of one of the decorative knight's armors around it, arranging its arm as if the armor were having a drink. Then I staggered off toward my wine cellar, almost stumbling over a figure crouched there at the stairs.

"Whoops!"

It turned out the figure was a woman bawling her eyes out while she clung to a bottle of wine.

"It seems we have more in common than our predilection for nose-pickings," I observed drunkenly.

"Go away!" she hiccupped.

"This is my palace!"

"Oh. Well..." She reluctantly moved aside to make room for me, handed me her bottle and wiped her nose at her sleeve.

"Here." I dug into the pockets of my dressing gown. "It's a clean one," I assured her, handing my handkerchief to her. She noisily blew her nose before absentmindedly handing it back to me. "Whoa! You can keep it!"

"Oh... yeah... gross..." She blushed and grinned sheepishly, brushing a strand of bright red hair out of her face. "Err... thank you... for the handkerchief and... I really should go now..."

"Will you tell me why you cried?" I heard myself call after her when she reached the top of the stairs. For the last months I had sought solitude as often as possible. I should have been glad she left. The presence of the others had been suffocating—but at that moment, I found myself wishing she would stay.

"Why would you care?"

"I just can't stand watching pretty young ladies cry. It brings the white knight in me forward." Where did these words come from? That slightly flirtatious tone? I sounded like someone I had known a long time ago. I could hardly remember that man anymore. "Talking can help, you know."

"Will you tell me in return?" she asked, hesitantly climbing down the steps one by one.

"I..." I had not talked about Suri. To anyone. Her companions had tried to talk to me about her—Zevran, Wynne, Leliana… even Oghren. They had sadly recalled all the moments of their journey that had bound them together. But with Suri gone, the bond was broken. I felt so lonely in my grief, talking about her to anybody proved impossible. "I lost someone very dear to me. Someone I loved," I heard myself admit to a complete stranger. "I miss her with every breath I take."

"I lost my family," she said in a voice hardly audible. She kept her distance, her face cast in shadow when she sat down two steps above me. I wanted to point out she still had her brother, but something in her voice stopped me. Instead, I handed the bottle back to her. Two bottles later, we could hardly crawl upstairs.

I finally managed to lift myself to my feet when Rori stumbled against me and almost sent me down again. Before I could decide if I should apologize or snap at her, she hugged me.

"Whoa!" I gasped in surprise. Not daring to move, I stood there stiffly while she gave me a quite brief, though comforting hug. Surana had been the last to hug me right before we had climbed the last steps to the top of Fort Drakon. Ever since, I had worn my loneliness like an armor. And then this girl came along, a complete stranger, and she cracked my shell open, pouring light into the darkness with such a small gesture of comfort. I felt like a rug had been pulled from under my feet. I was waiting for the moment when I would hit the ground but it never came.

She let go of me before I could make myself hug her back.

"Wh-what was that for?" I stammered.

She shrugged, cracking a smile. "You seemed to need a hug."


	2. The Lonely Hearts Club

The next morning I awoke with a terrible hangover after a dreamless night. Usually I lay awake at night, tossing and turning and painfully aware of the cold emptiness beside me. My drunken nights left me blissfully oblivious. I began to understand why Oghren was pissed as a newt most of the time. Groaning, I pushed the half-bred mabari puppy slobbering all over my face aside. I rolled out of bed and risked a look at my reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at me from a pale, unshaven face. I looked twice my age. Minimum.

Four months and I still wasn't used to my personal butler shaving and dressing me as if I were a toddler. So, whenever I woke in time to escape him, I hurried to get everything done quickly to save myself the awkwardness of a grown up man helping me with my smallclothes. After washing and shaving I looked almost human... if one cared to ignore the dark circles beneath my eyes, framing the haunted expression that lay in them.

After Duncan's death, I felt guilty. I should have died on the battlefield instead of him. Suri had rolled her eyes whenever I had gotten started and slapped the back of my head. "Whining won't make him come back. Move your ass and make him proud, stupid!" Neria Surana had never been one to complain about her fate. If Duncan hadn't recruited her, she would have easily made it to First Enchanter sooner or later. Honor, duty, the will to lead and her quest for power—she was one in a million, and now she was gone...

Maker, I so needed a drink. Or two. I had begun to hide bottles under my bed. In my wardrobe. My boots. My drawers. Between the sofa cushions. Unfortunately my butler Arlington always found them and whenever I felt in need for a drink, I found myself dried out. This man knew no mercy.

The second day of my wooing courtship had a tight schedule, starting with a hunting party right after breakfast. I had never been hunting like that, chasing foxes with hounds and such. I knew how to catch coneys and fish. Nothing more.

Habren Bryland was downright giddy about the fox hunting. "Oh, it will make such a nice stole for me!" she exclaimed.

"For you?" Prudence Franderell snapped. "Why should you be the one to get a stole?"

"Because I am the prettiest, of course!"

"Have you had a look in the mirror this morning, darling?" Glenda of Amaranthine asked icily.

"Maybe she needs glasses." Isadora, Bann Loren's daughter, laughed.

And so on.

"Maker preserve me," I sighed and once more wished Suri would have let me slay the blasted archdemon. I was beginning to wonder if her sacrifice wasn't some kind of revenge.

At the other side of the court, Rori helped Jane Wulff mount her horse. Poor Jane was such a sweet and polite girl, easily scared and clearly not used to riding on horseback. Whenever I cracked a joke, Jane would blink at me uncomprehendingly. She wouldn't have noticed sarcasm if I had held up a sign each time I used it for cover. Rori was the only one to laugh for real at my jokes. And she led priceless counterattacks.

"Your Majesty," Habren shrieked next to me, making me jump. "You decide who should have the fox hide."

Eight ladies expectantly stared at me.

"Preferably the fox," I answered curtly, mounted my horse and left them standing there.

I've never been a good horseman. I can stay in the saddle; that's about it. The only one less skilled was Lady Jane, and she soon was left behind with the servants. I tried to keep up with the others but in the heat of the hunt, I soon lost sight of the hunting party.

I felt utterly devastated. An afternoon with the ladies and I couldn't take part! Woe was me! The mere memory makes me tear up...

Okay, no, it doesn't.

To be honest, I lost them on purpose.

I slipped my signet ring off my finger and into the satchel at my belt. My cloak with the Theirin crest I hid inside a hollow tree trunk. Instantly I felt lighter, sort of free. These short moments when I could be just Alistair helped me find the strength I needed to act like a king. Mind you, I was an amateur actor—and a bad one to boot. Anora could have ruled but after what Suri had gone through to make me king, giving up was no option. I owed her that much. And more. So much more. Blast, I was heavily in debt, even more so than the kingdom.

I steered my horse towards the next tavern, found a table outside and ordered a pint. The sun was shining, birds were singing in the trees and when I closed my eyes, my memories took me back to the days when Oghren had been sitting next to me, teasing Sten about his cabbage farts. Leliana would have been with the other guests, her lute in hand as she told our tales. Zevran, flirting with the waitress of course. Wynne would have been knitting, a glass of wine in front of her. Then a second. A third. And Suri, glad we finally made it out of the wilderness. She had spent her whole life in the tower and all this travelling around—tents, campfires, walking or riding on horseback, the lack of properly cooked and served food... it was not her forte. The whole time up until the final battle, Suri had—unsuccessfully—tried to invent a spell to protect her from the midges—beasts she had loathed as much as Shale hated birds. Maker, without her companions, Suri wouldn't have survived in the outside for five minutes...

Blast! Rapidly I blinked my eyes. I surely wasn't going to sit here and bawl into my ale.

"Hay fever?"

I looked up in surprise at the sound of Rori's voice. I had been so caught up in my memories I hadn't noticed her approach.

"Shouldn't you be fox hunting?" I asked rather curtly while I fished for a handkerchief in my pocket. I felt as if I had been caught red handed. She knew perfectly well it wasn't hay fever that made my eyes water. Why was she here? What did she want? Didn't I deserve some rest?

"Shouldn't you?" she shot back.

"Hunting's a waste of time and effort when the vixen runs after me." I retorted sourly. "I just have to sit down and wait and—voilà!—there she is!"

"Run into you I did; running after you I wouldn't do for love nor money," Rori replied huffily.

"I can offer neither the first nor the second."

We glared at each other madly and I for sure wasn't going to look away first. Offering an apology was out of the question. Suddenly, Rori's frown vanished. Instead, she grinned impishly at me. "How about a cool beer?"

Her charm was disarming. "I think that could be done," I mumbled, unsuccessfully trying to bite back a grin. The last thing I had intended was to invite her but now she slumped down on the bench across the table, ordered a pint, cold meat, and bread, and I found myself encumbered with her company. Being mad at her proved impossible, so I was mad at myself.

"An unmarried young lady should not be found alone in a tavern," I pointed out. A very last attempt to make her leave.

"I'm not alone. You're here with me." She took the first sip of her beer, the foam sticking to her upper lip like a fluffy white moustache.

"As far as I understand, an eligible bachelor isn't the proper company for a maiden."

"Neither am I a maiden," she lectured me with her adorable foam moustache pout, "nor are you, in my eyes, eligible. No offense meant."

"No offense taken." I grinned. It was hard to resist the urge to wipe the foam off her lip. I could have given her a hint if she hadn't looked so incredibly cute with it. "So, if it wasn't for chasing after me, why did you leave the hunting party?"

"This surely isn't a serious question. Who in their right mind would want to spend an afternoon with Habren? In addition, I've never been fond of fox hunting. I feel sorry for the poor fox."

"My sentiments exactly." I grinned, leaned across the table and with my thumb, carefully wiped the foam off her lip. She was taken aback and blushed a brighter shade of pink, even her ears glowed. It suited her quite well.

Three hours and several pints later, Teagan and my guards finally found us. Bless him! He knew quite well by then where to look for me. It wasn't the first time I escaped. He could have found me in no time at all but he knew how much I needed a break from my kingly duties every now and then.

A bit tipsy, I returned to the palace. To my utmost surprise I'd had a rather pleasant and entertaining afternoon. Rori was fun to talk to. We didn't discuss anything heavy or serious. Nothing to make us tear up. She was just like one of the boys, actually. Someone to hang out with. All the time during the Blight, Suri had made friends always and everywhere. I got along well with most of her companions, but she was the bond we all shared. When I fell in love with her, she became the center of my universe and I looked neither left nor right. Her radiance consumed me completely. Now for the first time ever since Duncan recruited me, I felt like I had made friends with someone. I was in high spirits until I remembered I didn't deserve any happiness. Maker! How dare I share a drink and a chat and enjoy both when Suri was there in her cold grave?! I shouldn't be allowed to sleep comfortably in my warm bed. Maker! I shouldn't be allowed to sleep at all. Or eat and actually like the taste. Or feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. Or hear the gay song of the birds. I didn't deserve any joy. Not now, not ever.

I so knew Suri would have beaten me over the head with her staff for that kind of thinking.

The fox, by the way, had escaped. The ladies were in a rather foul mood, especially Habren, as she had fallen off her horse and landed in a blackberry bush.

I didn't have time to visit Suri's grave that day. That made me feel even worse. I completely failed her. Now spending the afternoon with Rori felt like cheating on Suri. I needed to ask for forgiveness. I needed to throw myself into the dust and confess my sins...

Maker's Breath! I needed to stop being so damn pathetic!

Arlington already awaited me to make sure I took a bath before the ball and dressed properly. So I had to pull myself together and go back to amateur hour.

King Alistair Theirin, a tragicomedy in countless acts.

The ballroom was crammed with man-eaters and I was the main course. I couldn't take a single step without a woman asking for my attention. I commented on dresses, hairdos, shoes, makeup. Someone in the crowd even groped my hindquarters! A gauntlet is a complete joke compared to that night in the ballroom. I'd rather have spent the evening amongst darkspawn. That was the kind of dance I knew by heart.

I searched for Rori and found her on her way toward the buffet. She wore a dark blue dress matching the color of her eyes. It was rather simple and high-necked—certainly not made to draw attention—but she stuck out like a sore thumb in that crowd of revealing haute couture. I needed her. Desperately. I had to lead the dance soon and she was the only one I felt safe with. In my attempt to get to her, I couldn't help overhearing the whispers following her as she passed by.

"The youngest Cousland... What is she doing here?"

"... a disgrace. Haven't you heard? She offered herself to Howe to ensure her survival..."

"He took her captive. I've been told he did not behave like a gentleman toward her."

"Quite an understatement, my dear. She gave birth to his bastard shortly before he died. Nobody knows where the child is."

"Not a bastard. His legitimate heir—and hers. She married Howe..."

"...They say she abandoned the baby. Didn't even want to look at it..."

"How dare she show her face here?! She plotted her parents' deaths. I tell you, she did!"

"Howe was her lover and now look at her! How she acts all innocent. Would you believe her to be the victim?"

"Married the murderer of her family, that's what she did."

"Bitch!"

Maker's Breath! And I had believed this to be my gauntlet!

She held her head up high. Maker, she tried. Pretended she didn't hear when the words crashed down on her mercilessly, ceaselessly. With every step she took her composure crumbled. She slumped her shoulders, hung her head, hurried past them until she almost ran, fleeing from the room that was filled with disgust. It hung heavy in the air like poisonous gas, and for Rori, was just as consuming, just as inescapable, just as deadly.

Eamon announced the first dance, asking me to lead it. His choice of bachelorettes formed a circle around me. I muttered an apology, elbowed past them and hurried after Rori, the women floating after me like an enemy armada.

Rori did the only reasonable thing to recover from the assault she had endured in the ballroom. She stuffed herself with sweets and got drunk. She stood at the buffet with her back turned to me when I tapped her shoulder. She turned, her cheeks puffed from all the food, mouth smeared with chocolate, and blinked at me in bewilderment.

"Lady Rori," I said in my best kingly voice, "May I have this dance?" I held out my hand for her to take. A murmur went through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eamon frantically waving at me to catch my attention. I ignored him.

A slice of cheese in one hand, hors d'oeuvre in the other, Rori was so stunned she just stood there and gawked, even forgot to swallow. I had to repeat my question to make her react. Then she swallowed, slapped the cheese into my palm—needless to say, it went straight into my mouth—fed the hors d'oeuvre to Barkspawn, and with the sweetest smile—her mouth still smeared with chocolate—took my offered hand.

We sailed past the indignant crowd. My heart beat like a battle drum and considering how tight Rori was squeezing my hand, she was equally nervous.

"Worst choice ever. Do you have a death wish?" she muttered breathlessly.

"Quite often," I admitted as we reached the middle of the ballroom. "And there's one thing you should know..."

"Yes?"

"I can't dance." Eamon somehow had expected I could dance. And I hardly ever listened closely when he announced my schedule for the day. So once I realized I would have to dance, there had been no time left to teach me how to do it. Some panicked first tries with Arlington in my dressing room, nothing more. Arlington's toes were black and swollen for the next two days.

"It's not that different from fighting." Rori said calmly. "I'm your sparring partner. The dance is your footwork." Strangely her words soothed my nerves. Fighting. That was something I knew. Something I was good at. The music started, Rori counted the steps, and I followed. When Arlington had danced with me I had kept staring at our feet and still they hadn't gone where I had wanted them to go. Now, my eyes never left Rori's and my feet moved in rhythm with the music. First I was tense, but when I noticed it was working I relaxed and we floated across the dance floor together. I only once stepped on her toes.

"You realize you just caused a serious scandal, right?" Rori asked when the dance was over. She never broke eye contact, feeling the stares of the assembled crowd boring into her. As long as she looked into my hazel eyes she was safe to pretend the world around us did not exist. "Fergus doesn't want to accept it, but I'm an outcast."

"I don't believe a single word of what they say," I said forcefully.

"Truth or lies. It doesn't matter. I didn't have the decency to die when I should have. They look at me and they see a defiled woman. I'm something dirty, something they don't want to be reminded of." She shrugged and cracked the saddest smile.

I didn't dance with anyone but her all night long.


	3. Mourning My Lost Love

Tossing and turning in my bed, my limbs entangled in the sheets as if caught in a net, I spent another sleepless night wrapped up in loneliness and despair. Arlington had found all my hiding places again so no booze to numb the pain. The wind blowing in through the open windows whispered Suri's name. She was in the shadows cast on the walls, her scent still lingered in the air and when I closed my eyes, her face was there, etched into my mind. My loneliness and grief weighed me down. At the same time, I hated myself for my pathetic weakness. I couldn't stand listening to myself anymore.

At the break of dawn, I gave up. Sleep was overrated anyway. I needed to be with Suri. I put on a dressing gown and stumbled out of the bedroom. I still couldn't call it my room. I was an alien here. I felt like the usurper I was, according to some of the nobles.

Suri's grave was located in the palace park, beneath an old oak beside a pretty lake. A statue of her, lithe and lissome as she had been in life, adorned her final resting place. Holding her head up high, her face wore an expression of calm determination. The sculptor had done her best to get Suri's frizzy hair right but honestly, it looked like she had wiggling worms on her head instead of hair.

The rose I had given her was stuck behind one of Suri's pointy ears. It was still as beautiful as the day I had plucked it. That's what you get when you store a blossom in lyrium. On her ebony cheeks, dewdrops sparkled like tiny gems. It made her look as if she were crying.

Ironically, a swarm of midges danced around her head.

I knelt down in front of the statue and started my usual lament. I'll spare you the details. In short it was: I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'm worthless. I should have died. Life sucks. etc. etc.

I bent over, covered my face with my hands and wept bitterly. For months the tears had not come. I had felt them behind my eyes, a throbbing ache, a pressure that filled my whole head and spread through my very being until I consisted of nothing but agony. Once I could cry for her I found it was hard to stop. I bawled about almost anything that reminded me of Suri. Like a flood my tears streamed down my face and my shoulders shook as I was sobbing her name. I wallowed in my grief—and admittedly in self-pity—when a sound behind me made me jump.

I spun round to see a small figure in a dark blue ball gown dangling from a branch of the old oak tree. A shock of red curls framed a pale, heart-shaped face with blue eyes a little too large and still rather sleepy.

"Sorry!" Rori squeaked. "I... I didn't mean to disturb you... I... suddenly you were there and I... didn't know what to do... I didn't mean to... Maker… I should go... yes, go." She dropped out of the tree, stumbling in her hurry and tearing her dress. She turned left, then right, in a circle, trying to figure out the right way and bouncing into me when she lost her shoe. "Sorry!... Palace, which way?" she asked, straightening herself when I put her back to her feet. I couldn't help but notice she was about Suri's height. That was about all she had in common with my lost love, though.

"Did you sleep in the tree?" I asked once I had recovered from the shock. Briefly I wondered if she had stalked me.

"Err... yes? I wanted to be alone..." She shrugged and offered a sheepish grin. "I am sorry I invaded a private moment... I... well, sorry."

"Just don't tell anybody I wept like a little girl. It's not very manly, you see." I blushed. Maker! This was awkward. And again in capital letters. AWKWARD!

"My lips are sealed." Rori moved her hand as if turning a key to lock her mouth. "Err... I should go..." She looked around for her shoe and I, being the gentleman I am, retrieved it for her.

"Thank you..." She turned to leave hesitantly, then spun round and blurted out: "Sorry... I mean, you have my deepest sympathy. She... must have been an extraordinary woman..."

"She was." I agreed.

"You loved her..."

"I still do," I whispered, gently caressing the statue's face, wiping the dewdrops away like I would have done with her tears. The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop myself. I never looked at Rori but at Surana's cold face etched into the black stone. "I didn't deserve her love and still she gave it to me. After the Landsmeet I broke up with her. She was an elven mage and a king needs an heir... obviously... I didn't want to raise her hopes about our future. I didn't want her to suffer. A quick ending. And then she died. All the days before the final battle she was miserable and heartbroken. It was my fault. She could have spent her last days in happiness if only I had loved her like she deserved." I pressed my lips together to stop myself from sobbing—and from dropping my emotional waste on Rori. But, Maker, I so needed to talk. The pressure inside was killing me.

"She was the love of my life," I croaked. "Maker! She was my life. I died with her but she is gone and I am stuck here. She gave me happiness," I whispered sadly as if I had never known happiness at all before she came into my life. "Now she is gone there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that consumes me. I just want to lie down and never get up again. I want this life to end... I would end it like a coward if not for the responsibility I have."

For a brief moment I felt the weight of a small hand comfortingly on my back. Then Rori sat down next to me at the shore of the lake, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. "When Howe betrayed my father, my parents beseeched me to flee," she began hesitantly. "Papa was fatally wounded. Mama didn't want to leave him alone, but I could have escaped through a secret passage. Instead I stayed. I couldn't abandon them. That moment it felt like the right thing to do and yet it was so wrong. I couldn't save them. They would have died with or without me staying. But if I had left like they begged me to... They would have died knowing I was safe... But I stayed and..." Her voice cracked. Silent tears streamed down her face. "Howe made them watch... Papa begged him to stop... Mama offered herself... He just laughed in their faces... It was my fault. I increased their suffering needlessly..."

I stretched out my hand to offer her the silent comfort she had granted me but she flinched and I pulled my hand back. I felt like a complete wimp. This girl had endured so much. Next to her suffering mine seemed insignificant. Now I was ashamed of my whining. How could I dump my emotional waste on this girl? She even made it worse when she turned to me, her eyes puffed, cheeks smeared with tears, her nose snotty and went: "Sometimes what seems right turns out wrong. A wrong decision doesn't make us bad or worthless people... At least that's what I keep telling myself."

"Howe didn't kill you. I'm sure your parents knew you would survive," I muttered lamely.

"Like Surana knew you still loved her," Rori replied.

Blast! That had me burst into tears again. We sat there at the shore of the lake and both bawled into my handkerchiefs. I had to give one to Rori when she again proved she was without when she took off her long silken gloves to wipe her nose.

"Enough platitudes for today," I sniffed once I managed to regain my composure.

"My sentiments exactly."

Now we sat at the shore of the lake in silence, both caught in the nightmares that would haunt us forever. The sun rose in all her pink and golden glory, the world kept turning when, to us, it had long ago come crumbling down. After Suri's death I had expected the world to stop, but it didn't. It kept going without her and dragged me along.

"I hid some booze between the rocks over there," I confessed when feeling sorry for myself was getting old. The forest was too big even for Arlington.

"Now you tell me!" Rori snorted. "What are you waiting for? Go and get it!"

"You have a serious drinking problem."

"You're one to talk."

We sipped whiskey and skimmed stones. Well, I skimmed them. Rori just dropped hers into the water. "What is wrong with you women?" Suri never managed to skip one either, no matter how often I tried to teach her. "Here, like that." I showed her how to send them hopping across the surface instead of having them sink right away. I even took her hand to guide her toss. And that was when I noticed the dryness of her skin, like old paper and covered with a web of nasty scars. Her knuckles were swollen, the fingers crooked. I had held her hand before but with my nervousness during the ball and her wearing gloves I hadn't noticed something was odd about her hands.

My shocked hesitation caused her to pull away and tuck her hands under her arms. Her face she hid behind a curtain of red curls. Agitatedly she reached for the bottle and found it empty. "Blast!"

"One moment..." I half waded into the water between the reeds and pulled at a string I had fastened to the branch of a fallen tree. At the other end of the string there was a bottle, safely hidden in the deep water. I fished it out and handed it to Rori. "Voilà!"

Drinking more whiskey, I watched her while I waited for my socks to dry. She plucked a blade of grass and picked it apart.

"Did you get in trouble for dancing with me last night?" Rori asked while plucking another blade of grass.

"Eamon almost bit my head off," I growled. "I don't get why he would invite you when everything about you is so scandalous." The way Rori was treated by the nobles, by her own brother... It made me hopping mad. Eamon had made very clear that she was only here because of her brother's influence. Offending him was unwise, so we all pretended his sister wasn't completely out of the question when it came to finding a wife. Eamon expected she would end up with some lower bann like Loren. He had lost his wife and heir and thus needed a woman to breed with. I still didn't want to marry, neither Rori nor anybody else. But the way people talked about her as if she were scum... I felt an irresistible urge to protect her. "All those rumors about what you've done. How can people be so inconsiderate and cruel? After what Howe did how can anybody really believe you married him?"

"Well, I did."

"WHAT!?" I shrieked. "You have got to be kidding!"

"Nope. I'm Mrs. Rendon Howe." She spat the name out as if it were a foul and rotten thing.

"But... why?" Something must have been wrong with my hearing. Why would she marry that monster after what he had done?

"I'd have done anything to escape the torture." she whispered hoarsely, uneasily rubbing her crippled hands.

"Oh..."

"Yeah, I'm afraid I'm not meant to be a heroine." She bit her lips and squeezed her eyes shut but couldn't stop the tears from falling. "First you think 'Ha! You can break my body but never will you break my will!' But really, that's a whole lot of bullshit."

"I'm so sorry..." I stammered, feeling like a complete idiot. Rori shrugged and emptied the bottle. She was already rather tipsy. Couldn't blame her. I wanted to comfort her but everything I could have said sounded stupid.

"Howe got Highever and with the marriage, a legitimation that would outlast Loghain," Rori went on with a voice so hollow I wished I could kill Howe again. Slowly this time. "I don't know if he would have kept me after he got his precious heir. But he died before I could find out, thank the Maker. And that's the whole story. That's where the rumors come from. And why Fergus can't stand being around me."

Maker have mercy! I would never once again complain about my fate! Listening to her I suddenly felt blessed. And stupid. Uneasily I shifted my weight, yearning for some more booze. "I wish... I want to do something for you. Whatever you want, you just have to say..."

"Oh please! Keep your pity!" Rori snapped, fury flaring in her eyes. "I may take you up on that later," she added in a softer tone after a moment of contemplation. Then she switched on a smile, a brave attempt, really, but that was about everything that could be said about that smile. The one I returned didn't turn out any better. At least it made Rori laugh. "Maker! Look at these faces as long as fiddles!" She pointed at our reflections in the water and pulled a face. I squinted my eyes and stuck my tongue out and we entered a grimace competition that had us rolling around in hysterics soon.

"I know a mage who could take care of your hands," I said when I finally could breathe again. We lay in the grass, watching the clouds.

Rori waved her stiff fingers in front of my face. "This is the magically healed version."

"Wynne is the best healer I have ever met. It can't hurt to give it a try, can it?" I insisted.

"Well... the last time a mage healed my hands he had to break all the bones again before putting them together properly..."

"Okay, maybe it can hurt..."

"To get a second opinion won't," Rori pointed out. I was glad she accepted. "So, do you already have a favorite future Mrs. Alistair picked out?" she asked curiously.

"Maker! It's like the choice between the devil and the deep blue sea!" I groaned. "I'd rather not marry at all but that's not an option. The heir hitch, you see. And if I really had to pick... I suppose I'd choose you," I admitted after a moment's hesitation. Not because I loved her. I doubted I could ever love again. There was no room in my heart for anybody but Suri. Still, Rori... she more and more became like a sister to me... Oh... wait! Now, that sounds somewhat deviant... Marrying someone because they remind you of your sister... That's not... um... let's pretend I didn't say anything at all. And... well, I liked her, okay?

"Forget it. One, you cannot have a queen with my past. It's absolutely impossible," Rori reasoned. "Two, I do not want to marry. Marriage means I would have to... well, you know, the heir hitch, and that would mean there would have to be a whole lot of..." Her voice cracked and she rubbed her hands nervously, unable to look me in the eyes.

"Lamppost licking?" I offered.

"What?" she exclaimed, then it dawned on her. "Oh, yeah... and you see, licking a lamppost, especially in winter... it's rather... unpleasant... for me... I... I doubt I would want to do it again... ever." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Have you ever licked a lamppost before...?"

She shook her head. "Not willingly…" she whispered and I wished once more I had picked Howe apart slowly instead of just killing him.

"Then... what will you do?" She didn't have many options if her brother didn't want to take her in. He certainly wouldn't kick her out but that didn't mean he couldn't make her life miserable if she didn't do as he wanted.

"I've thought about joining the Grey Wardens," Rori said thoughtfully. "Do something useful for a change."

"Don't." Maker's Breath! She had suffered enough for sure. The last place I wanted her to be was anywhere in the Deep Roads.

Surprised, she looked at me. "But... you are a Grey Warden."

"Exactly. Just don't. Trust me."

"Aren't you proud of being a Grey Warden? Didn't you say it's an honor? And don't you always go on about how great the order is?"

"All of that. But... not for you."

"Because I'm a woman?" she huffed.

"No... yes... I..." How could I tell her of the horrors she would meet in the Deep Roads? How could I explain to her what it meant to be a Grey Warden? I would've rather kept her blissfully oblivious. And safe from harm. "Please, just promise me you won't become a Grey Warden." I was damn serious about it.

"Okay. If it makes you happy. Fine, I promise..." she agreed although she clearly didn't understand why. "I guess that means I should go and seek out Captain Isabela. I hear she's looking for new members for her crew. My mother taught me how to sail."

"Isabela?" I laughed nervously.

"You know her?"

Well... I had licked lampposts with her and Suri... "Kinda." Pause. "Can you really burp the chorus of The Soldier and the Seawolf?"

Rori cocked her head to one side and grinned impishly, then she inhaled deeply and... burped the chorus of The Soldier and the Seawolf. Kinda. After the first three notes she burst into a gigglefit and breathlessly giggled-burped-hiccupped the rest of the chorus.

"You have a natural talent," I laughed. "You're sure you don't want to marry me? You are the wife of my dreams!"


	4. Sorrowful Hearts

As I was now an insomniac, I was out and about when normal people still slept the sleep of the just. That time right before dawn when the world was dyed in shades of grey, when the night was coldest and the birds hadn't yet awoken, when the palace lay in dead silence; it was that time of night that made me wonder if I was actually still alive or caught in a nightmarish Fade illusion. I kept checking for my heartbeat and, to my utter disappointment, I always found it.

Kings don't have much privacy. There's always someone somewhere to help you with things normal people are perfectly capable of handling without assistance. It still drives me crazy, although after all this time, they've mostly learned to leave me alone. Back at the beginning of my reign it was unbearable, especially as my mourning called for solitude. The early morning hours were my sanctuary. It was almost peaceful then, a stark contrast to the maelstrom inside of me. I didn't react well to early birds disturbing my privacy, but ever since Eamon's matchmaking festival had started, I wasn't the only insomniac in the palace anymore.

At first I had tried to avoid her, but our random encounters strangely didn't upset me, and soon I found myself seeking her out. When I didn't find her, she would find me. And after some time we began to hang out together. Like me, she was a creature of the twilight... Nothing cool or creepy, we just didn't belong anywhere. We were thoroughly lost and out of place everywhere we went. Or, as Rori put it, "I am an utter stranger to myself." But together, we were less alone.

"There you are. I thought you got cold feet," Rori greeted me with a bright smile. She sat cross-legged on the low wall surrounding the training ground, her weapons—a sword and a dagger—within reach.

"So sorry to dash your hopes, Puck!" With her bouncy red curls and those large blue eyes darker than the deep blue sea, with the myriad of freckles on her nose and the cute pout of her rosebud lips, she looked like a cheeky little imp. Her brother called her Pup; for me she became Puck. "Someone's going to get stomped into the ground."

"A confident valuation of your chances of success. I didn't know you were an optimist." Rori teased, poking my chest with her index finger.

"Ouch!" I clapped my hands over my heart as if seriously wounded. "You sound like Morrigan!"

"You compare me to the witch-bitch? Whoa! A degradation of this kind needs to be atoned for!" She drew her blades. "En garde, Ser!"

It was the first time we sparred together. A few days before I had watched her on the sparring grounds alone. She only reluctantly had given in to my suggestion to spar together. She didn't like to be touched and was always careful to keep her distance unless she was too drunk to care or too distracted by us horsing around. So I fooled around, made silly faces, or ran away clucking like a frightened chicken and flapping my arms like wings whenever she charged—only to make her laugh and relax. It worked quite well. We just didn't do much sparring that way.

"ALISTAIR!" Rori finally cried out in exasperation, tears of laughter glinting in her eyes. "Seriously now!" This was so much like the old days during the Blight when we all met for sparring. Sten really wanted to train while Oghren was far too drunk and Zevran just tried to undress every female opponent by slicing her garments off. Suri would whack everybody with her staff if they didn't behave... Boy, we had so much fun in between all the tragedy and chaos.

"How about that? Serious enough?" One moment I was wagging my sword at her playfully. The next it went flying and hers was pointed at my throat. "Oh. Wow. That was... unexpected."

The second round I lasted a little longer. Boy! She was fast. And she knew some nasty moves that would have made Zevran go green with envy. She kicked my feet from under my legs, making me eat sand and dust.

"If I had known you'd be rolling around in the sand most of the time, I'd have brought sand toys," Rori teased when she helped me back to my feet.

"Alright, playtime is over." I growled with squinted eyes, pointing my finger at her. "The little girl act so cannot fool me anymore!"

Circling her, I waited for her to make the first move, blocking her swift blows hailing down on me. She was good but lacked experience. She lost her sword when mine crashed against her blade. Armed only with her dagger, she didn't have the range to be a threat any longer. With my shield I made sure she didn't get closer and finally pushed her down, kicking the dagger away she had dropped.

"Ha! Revenge is mine! Feel the wrath of the ticklespawn! Mwahahaha!" Before she could get up, I pinned her to the ground, holding her arms with one hand as I hovered above her. She squirmed and kicked and tried to throw me off while I held her down with my weight and tickled her mercilessly...

Rori screamed.

The sound bore into me. Her agony made me bolt as if lightning had struck me. I let go of her and she scrambled away, her eyes tearful and wide with fear.

"Maker's Breath! I'm... I'm sorry... Rori!" I called after her when she ran away. I jumped to my feet to follow her when it dawned on me that chasing her certainly wasn't going to win her favor.

Doom!

DOOM!

"Inconsiderate jerk!" I scolded myself. I had overstepped the mark. I had gotten lost in all the clowning around. It had almost felt like it was with Suri—without the big feelings of course... Merciful Andraste! I hadn't wasted a single thought on how inappropriate my behavior towards Rori was. Next to the fact that you just do not tickle an unmarried noble woman—wouldn't recommend trying it with a married one unless you are her spouse—tickling Rori was... a disaster beyond all expectations. Maker! I had been on top of her, holding her down... Alistair, you blithering idiot!

Blast! I had to apologize. Maker! I was so utterly ashamed of myself. I went to all our hiding places without finding her. Instead, I found wild strawberries. The King of Ferelden spent the next hour sticking berries on straws as I had done as a boy in Redcliffe. I felt reluctant to keep searching for Rori because I really didn't know what to say, and I figured a little gift could work the magic my deft brilliance couldn't.

Back at the palace I ran into Rori's maid, an old chaperone Fergus had picked to look after his sister. "In case you are looking for Lady Rori, your Majesty, well, she's not here!" the old woman said sourly. "I have no idea where she is. Looking after her is like herding cats! One should leash her like a dog! It's really beyond me how this Arl Rendon managed to keep her in one place that long."

Probably because he did have her leashed like a dog. But I wasn't going to argue with the woman. I had already betrayed Rori's trust; I wouldn't forfeit it completely by blurting out details she had told me in confidence. Since Rori wasn't in her room, I could enter without dropping yet another brick. Just leave a quick note and the strawberries for her and voice a proper apology once she decided to reappear—a perfect plan.

Okay, so, I needed a piece of paper... Maker! Rori's desk was a worse mess than mine. "The Darktown's Deal" by Varric Tethras. Interesting. Several letters, mostly from her brother and uncle. Rori had doodled naked hindquarters on two thin legs and with large ears at the margin of some of the letters. Sometimes an angry stick-Mabari snapped at the naked butt... She didn't seem to be very thrilled by whatever her relatives had written. An apple core, several handkerchiefs—all mine!— dog biscuits... Aha! Letter paper...

Blast! What to write? Hmm... "Sorry for being a jerk. —Alistair." Nah, too flippant. I balled the note up and dropped it onto the heap of used paper next to the desk. "Lady Rori, please forgive my lapse..." Too formal?

While I was still wracking my brain, a sound behind me caught my attention. Someone was... sniffling? I took a look around but there was nobody there. "I'm imagining things," I muttered to myself. Hey! There it was again. Silent as a stone I stood there and perked up my ears. The sound came from the far side of the room near the bed...

I knelt down and peeped under the bed. Two large blue eyes stared back at me. "Having an early night?" I grinned sheepishly.

"Get lost!" Rori sniffled.

"Your desire is my command. I am good at getting lost. I get hopelessly lost most of the time."

"Yet you are still here," Rori answered in a peeved tone. At least she wasn't scared of me anymore.

"Just because I got lost in thought when searching for an apology that doesn't sound lame." Despite Rori frowning at me I laid down on the floor in front of the bed so I could properly look her in the eyes. "I am sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I would never hurt you intentionally. I'm an expert at dropping bricks, though, and... well, I'm sorry."

"That was indeed very lame," Rori mercilessly adjudicated on the matter of my apology.

"I brought strawberries…" I held up the straws, regarding her with puppy-dog eyes.

"Alistair Theirin, are you trying to buy me over?" Rori asked sternly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Guilty as charged." I grinned abashedly then held out my hand to her. "Friends?" Thoughtfully biting her lips, she regarded my outstretched hand for what seemed an eternity to me. "Come on, Puck, my arm is going numb!"

"You're lucky I accept bribes." She shook my hand, crawled out from under the bed, and snatched a straw from me. "Quite a sweet-talker," she grinned sheepishly, tucking a lose strand of unruly hair behind her ear. "And I am willing to share."

"Thank you but no thank you. I... I should go. I should not be found in your room..."

"Worried about my reputation?" Rori laughed dryly. "People accuse me of being a slut for sleeping with the murderer of my parents. This is rock-bottom."

"That's your reputation. What about mine?" I teased her.

"You're a man," Rori pointed out. "Being found in the company of a woman with a seedy reputation makes you a daredevil."

"That's unfair!" I exclaimed.

Rori just shrugged. "A bad reputation is the best vindication for doing whatever you want. People expect you to act outrageously anyway."

"If so... gimme some of those berries."

"Open your mouth!" Rori plucked a berry off the straw and aimed.

"Oh come on! I saw you throwing stones. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!"

"You flatter me. Now keep still!"

After Rori and I had given the nobility something new to viciously gossip about, I reluctantly returned to work. On my way to my office I ran into Teagan. He gawked at me as if I had sprouted a second head. "Alistair? Are you... are you feeling well?"

"Sure, I'm fine. Why?"

"Nothing... it's just... is that a strawberry in your hair? ... and you've been... whistling."

"Quite out of tune it seems if that eases your worry," I chuckled, plucked the strawberry from my head and popped it into my mouth.

"Not at all," Teagan assured me. "I just haven't seen you in such a good mood ever since..."

"Oh..." The smile was wiped off my face. "Yes, well, it won't happen again... Excuse me, I have work to do..." I worked quite a lot these days.

"Sorry, I can't go for a walk / boating / shopping / have tea / lunch / dinner with you. I've got an awful lot of work to do. King business, you know how it is." That had become my most favorite and best excuse ever when it came to avoiding the man-eating bachelorettes. This excuse allowed me to seek sanctuary in my office where I relieved my boredom with playing darts—a painting of the late Arl Howe made for an exceptional target. I taught Barkspawn to fetch my slippers, listlessly played with my Grey Warden puppet, built houses of cards, rearranged the furniture... I even introduced myself to the art of governance out of mere boredom. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With the knowledge came the ideas, and much to Eamon's surprise, I didn't spend the daily meetings with my advisors solely doodling sketches onto important files; I actually listened and offered my own suggestions.

Sitting in my office, I flipped through my correspondence without really reading any of it. My mind was occupied with Suri and my lack of proper grieving lately. I talked a lot to Rori about her. Many had offered their comfort and a friendly ear, but I still had never confessed to them what was tearing me apart inside. Then along came Rori, and with her came the need to express my feelings. Once I got started I talked a mile a minute. Where there had only been guilty silence before when Suri's Blight companions sought to perpetuate her memory, I now spilled all the details to a stranger. Rori listened without judging me. And I didn't feel guilty around her as she hadn't known Suri. I still believed I should have made the sacrifice. My failure left Wynne, Zevran, and all the others bereft of a dear friend. I didn't have the right to burden them with my grief when I was the reason for theirs.

Closing my eyes, I banged my head against my desk repeatedly until I felt something large and furry in my lap. "Furdinand, old boy!" I scratched the Mabari behind his ears. He was Suri's dog. He missed her as much as I did. He used to be a furball of energy but ever since Suri's death, he was apathetic and listless. He spent his days lying in front of the fireplace, fading away slowly. He hardly ate anymore and when I took him for a walk he trudged after me. We both had failed to protect her when protecting her had been the only meaning of our lives.

Without her, we were nothing.


	5. Death Is No Respecter Of Kings

Thanks to all the reviewers, favs, followers and readers in general :D

* * *

"Dance?" I asked exasperatedly. "Dancer?" I was sitting on a picnic blanket playing charades in the park amongst a pack of ruthless bachelorettes determined to marry me. Lady Isolde had forced me to team up with Habren Bryland before I could pick Rori. I suffered from an awful hangover and a stiff neck as I had spent the night at Suri's grave, weeping and drinking and feeling sorry for myself. Again. Or, as Rori would have said, "Same shit, different day."

Habren shook her head no, turned gracefully and floated across the lawn, ran her hands through her hair, fluttered her eyelashes and looked at me expectantly.

I shrugged. "No idea... err... hair? Dress? Hairdresser?" I could see no difference between Habren's performance now and the last round when she attempted to mime 'fish bone'.

Habren shook her head no again, sank to the ground, then rose slowly, waving her arms in a wide circle.

"Something round?" I wondered. "Something rising? Sunrise?"

"Don't bother," Rori murmured into my ear. I could smell the whiskey on her breath. She obviously was better prepared for this ultimate torment of social activity. "I know she drew my card. It's 'dog turd'."

"Really? Maker!" I groaned, downing my glass of wine. When nobody cared to refill it, I went for the bottle. I was determined to catch up with Rori. Isolde glowered at me indignantly. I couldn't have cared less. She didn't expect me to suffer through a game of charades sober, did she? "Dog turd." I sighed after some more hopping by Habren.

"Rori's choice of words is so vulgar," she instantly complained loudly. Isolde agreed and immediately expelled Rori from the game.

"Lucky you!" I sulked when the redhead offered feigned sympathy with a cheeky smirk as she left me behind. My next choice of words for the next round were 'gnat's piss', 'arse kissing,' and 'golem vomit'. Isolde glared daggers at me but wouldn't do me the favor of expelling me, too.

Doom!

DOOM!

Sullenly I watched Rori throwing sticks for Barkspawn until the puppy accidentally spotted a cat and ran off to chase it. While Barkspawn enthusiastically barked up a tree and the cat indignantly ignored him, Furdinand apathetically rested in the shade of a large oak tree. Rori sat beside him and scratched him behind the ears. Then it was my turn to mime 'rose bed'; Isolde had imposed a new rule that only allowed pretty words. By the time I had made a complete fool of myself, Rori had convinced Furdinand to roll over and allow her to rub his belly. Habren's 'morning star' was indistinguishable from 'fish bone' and 'dog turd'. In the meantime, Rori was working a miracle. When I next looked her way she was frolicking about with Furdinand.

"Maker's Breath!" The last time I had seen Furdinand in exuberant spirits was after Suri's rescue from Fort Drakon. We had both pounced her the moment she stumbled through the door of Eamon's estate after we had spent endless hours in anguished distress praying for her safe return. Well, I prayed. Furdinand had gnawed on Suri's fancy boots. After Suri's death, the dog lost his reason for living. I had been sure he would die sooner or later, fading away in his grief. But there he was, rushing across the lawn to fetch the stick Rori threw for him. "How in the name of the Maker did she do that?" I wondered out loud, stopping in the middle of my performance of a 'seahorse'.

"Your Majesty? Wait! Where are you going?" Ignoring Isolde's protest I left, not even bothering with excusing myself, and joined Rori. She greeted me with a broad grin. Without saying a word she pointed at the picnic party I left behind and then stuck her finger down her throat.

"Sick and tired of playing charades! I finally got one!" I translated her miming. Wagging his tail, Furdinand came bouncing across the meadow, dropping the stick at Rori's feet. "How did you make him snap out of his stupor?" I wondered. "Even bribing him with cake didn't work for me."

"He just needs someone to be there for him," Rori answered. As simple as that.

"I believe I know what you mean," I said slowly, regarding her thoughtfully.

"The last to arrive at the oak has to buy a round!" Rori exclaimed before I could get hold of that bittersweet feeling stirring inside of me. POOF! It was gone. I was too busy horsing around with Rori to explore the strange notion any further. Any distraction that kept me from having to deal with my emotions was welcomed. So we played and ran with the dogs, even joined in on their howling.

On the hill across the lawn sat the bachelorettes, watching us with sour faces.

I got my comeuppance after dinner.

"Your Majesty," Eamon began upon entering my office with Teagan in tow. I should have been working, instead I stood at the window, having a sign language conversation with Rori down in the park. "What are you doing? What is she doing!?" he asked indignantly when he caught sight of Rori on the lawn, sneaking around while looking over her shoulder from time to time, then miming a galloping horse, afterwards moving her arms as if casting a fishing rod.

"Advanced level charades." I gave Rori a thumbs up.

Brusquely, Eamon drew the curtains shut. "We have to talk."

"If this is about charades today, I'm so not sorry. And as for your matchmaking, count me out!"

Eamon frowned. "We will talk about that tomorrow. For now, there are more important matters to take care of."

"More important than marrying me off? Don't tell me we're facing yet another Blight." Bad news called for a drink. I went for the cabinet and found it empty but for a choice of fruit juices. Blast it! Briefly, I was tempted to have Arlington executed.

Eamon made a long pause that was meant to express the severity of his announcement. "We received a warning about an attempt on your life."

"What else is new?" I sighed, rummaging through the drawers of my desk in search of my super secret flask. Aha! There it was. I turned my back on Eamon and Teagan to take a sip—and almost spat it out again right away when codliver oil filled my mouth. "EWWW!"

"Pardon?" Eamon asked unnervedly.

"That butler is dead meat," I muttered to myself, unable to bite back a grin. Who would have thought that good old Arlington actually had some sense of humor?

"Your Majesty, you should take this more seriously. You are the last Theirin," Eamon reminded me as if I were part of a bloodline conservation program. "We do not yet know any details, but your latest decisions are rather... unpopular."

"At least with the nobles," Teagan chuckled. "The people love you. They call you Good King Alistair."

"So, what? You want me to be more careful?" I for sure would pay attention to what I drank next time. The codliver taste still filled my mouth. I suppose I should have been scared. Alarmed. Whatever. But I was feeling so empty inside, so tired of all of this, I honestly couldn't care. All I could think about was Suri and how we would be reunited if I died.

"Exactly." Teagan wrapped an arm around my shoulder amicably. "No more sneaking out of the palace to sit around in taverns with the common people."

"Didn't you say they love me? Perhaps I should sit in taverns more often and avoid the palace crammed with nobles."

"No more hanging out with Lady Cousland all alone..."

"Why? Are you afraid she would attempt to murder me?" I laughed without humor.

"It's inappropriate," Eamon snapped. "She is in no way suited to become your queen! Your conduct today offended the ladies. I don't even want to mention her behavior. This needs to stop!" I didn't want to start a fight with Eamon so I took refuge in defiant silence. "Teagan, hopefully you can talk some sense into him. Excuse me, I have to discuss measures with the commander of the guard." The moment he turned his back on me, I pulled the curtain aside to confirm Rori's and my plans to sneak out of the palace and spend a day fishing at the river by giving her yet another thumbs up. I was rewarded with the brightest smile.

"You spend a lot of time with Lady Cousland," Teagan observed, making me jump as I hadn't noticed him sneaking up on me. Over my shoulder he watched Rori wave goodbye and bounce off. "I assume you are planning to marry her?"

"Maker, no!" I exclaimed, hurrying to add: "Rori doesn't want to marry." I didn't want to give the impression she wasn't suited like Eamon said.

"Are you sure?" Teagan asked. "She seems quite enraptured by you."

"Enraptured? Rori?"

"She runs around with a face as long as a fiddle unless she's around you. It's the only time one sees her smile," Teagan pointed out. "Same with you."

"We're pals," I insisted. "She's just one of the boys."

"Indeed."

"Listen, she really isn't interested. I'm not interested." How could anybody expect her to be prepared for marriage after what she had to endure? How could anybody expect me to be prepared for marriage after the loss I had suffered? The rare moments of oblivion we experienced when together weren't enough to undo the devastation inside. The pain went so much deeper. "Around her I do not have to pretend I'm fine. No fake smiles to make people happy. She doesn't expect anything from me, least of all to get over Suri."

Teagan patted my shoulder. "You keep telling yourself that, your Majesty." And that was all he was willing to say no matter how much I nagged him. No explanation. Nothing. I felt pretty stupid, as if I was missing something essential.

The next morning before dawn I snuck out of the palace. Usually I just put on my old clothes from when I had been just Alistair—Arlington called them rags—and left through the service door. I had lived my whole life as a commoner so it came quite naturally. Maker, I still felt more common than kingly. Teagan, however, knew of my habits and Eamon had set the guards on alert so I had to find another way to escape. Instead of trying to sneak past the guards, I marched past them right in front of their very eyes shortly before their shift ended because they would be exhausted then. Rori's idea, not mine. I was so nervous I sweated heavily, feeling like a fish in a bowl in my armor. Rori was right, though, they were looking for the king in disguise of a servant, not for some templar in splendid armor.

Rori already awaited me, sitting on the branch of an elm tree in a grove outside the city gates. "Did someone follow you?" she asked in a hushed whisper, letting herself drop off the tree.

"Not that I'm aware of." I hadn't told her about the possible attempt on my life as not to scare her—or worse, have her cancel our fishing trip. The responsibility I had as king, the forced matchmaking and my poignant grief—it was suffocating. I was balancing on the edge of a pitch black abyss. Before I had met Rori, I hadn't cared much if I fell. With her I had found a way to escape. She could offer me distraction and the illusion of a normal life or comfort simply by keeping me company. "Why? Did you notice something odd?"

Nervously biting her lips, Rori took a look around. "I thought there was someone... A shadow moving between the trees... Did you hear that?"

The rustling of leaves made her jump. With our weapons drawn we stared into the twilight of the forest. Something was moving in the undergrowth. Blast! For once I should have listened to Eamon! When the assassins came for me now they certainly wouldn't allow Rori to escape. Grimly I tightened my grip around the hilt of my sword, ready to defend her.

"Careful now, there it comes... whatever it is," Rori whispered breathlessly, pointing at... a boar breaking forth the bushes. It ogled at us in surprise, oinked, and hurried on. Rori and I both let out the breath we had been holding. "I'm imagining things," Rori groaned.

"Maker's Breath!" I gasped in relief.

"Duh, I feel rather sheepish now." Rori facepalmed, blushing deep crimson. "Let's just pretend I didn't act hysterical and paranoid, yes?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about."

"Good boy."

Rori had hidden the horses between the bushes when she had believed to have spotted a tail. They awaited us saddled up, grazing peacefully. While I shrugged out of my templar disguise, Rori checked the saddle girth again, frowning and muttering to herself under her breath.

"Is something wrong?"

Hesitantly she ran her fingers across the saddle girth of my horse. "I..." she began, then shook her head. "I just thought... I must be mistaken. It's nothing." Smiling insecurely, she handed the reins to me. "Papa and Maric went fishing a few miles down the river whenever my father had business in Denerim," Rori told me, her nervousness still audible in her voice. "Sometimes they even caught a few trout."

"Sometimes?" I laughed. "Didn't you say that place is rich in fish?"

"It is. Papa claimed he would have caught many more fish if only Maric hadn't scared them away with his constant babbling. He just couldn't keep his mouth shut." She grinned. "Like father, like son."

"I admit our chances to catch anything are slim." I chuckled, mounting my horse. The moment I sat in the saddle the beast began to snort and roll its eyes, it shook its head and pranced nervously. "Whoa! Easy!" I patted the horse's neck soothingly and shifted my weight to find a more comfortable position. Bad idea! The horse neighed loudly and bucked. "Blast!" The silly beast reared up and bolted to shake me off while I clung to its neck and tried to stay in the saddle. "Help!" I shrieked—rather unmanly, I know, but really I couldn't have cared less when my mount was breaking into frantic gallop.

"Alistair! Hold on!" Rori cried, stirring her horse to rush after me.

"That's the plan!" I shouted back at her. Afterwards I didn't do much talking anymore. I was too busy clinging to my horse. All I managed was some more unmanly screaming and whimpering and a few quick prayers to the Maker. Rori was right behind me, grabbing for the reins. My mad horse just pulled her out of the saddle and she had to let go to avoid getting dragged along. The thundering hooves trampled the ground around her, missing her head by inches only. I was tiring quickly. My fingers became numb, I had a cramp in my leg and felt as if every single bone in my body got rearranged. When the horse bucked again it sent me flying. I heard Rori scream my name, then there was darkness.


	6. Vertigo

The sun dappled speckles of gold onto the forest floor, its amber light peeping through the green canopy of leaves. My eyes half closed I laid in the grass, breathing in the scent of summer. The wind rustled in the branches, birds chirped cheerfully and bees buzzed by. Downhill on a meadow of wild flowers next to a clear blue lake there stood a small cozy house—my house. Laundry flew in the wind, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted in the air, the distant laughter of playing children echoed across the lake. My heart told me I had finally come home. Grinning from ear to ear, I hurried across the meadow. I didn't know what I was expecting, I just knew this was where I belonged.

When I approached the house, the door was closed. Nervous and yet deliriously happy, I hesitantly stepped closer, my heart skipping a beat when the door swung open and a petite slender figure, her skin as dark and smooth as chocolate appeared in the threshold.

"Suri!" I laughed with exuberant joy.

"Alistair?" she frowned, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? I live here! We live here!" I stammered in bewilderment.

Suri poked her head out of the door and took in her surroundings. "Maker preserve me! This has to be the arse-end of nowhere!"

"Err..." was all I managed to say. Suri never had been the countryside type. She wasn't very fond of children and to imagine she would do the laundry... Suddenly I had a throbbing headache. I couldn't think straight anymore.

Suri sighed, scrutinized me, then stepped aside to invite me in. I just stood there and gawked, too confused to react. "I don't understand," I croaked. "Aren't you glad to see me?" It wasn't the welcome I had expected. With another sigh Suri dragged me inside.

"Whoa!" I gasped when I entered the cozy little house and found myself standing in a library so huge I couldn't make out the end of the vast hall. High shelves crammed with books rose towards the painted ceiling, stretching like the starlit canopy above us. It rested on magnificent pillars of white and black marble. Through paladin windows of painted glass, colorful light flooded into the hall. This was Suri's very own world, so unlike mine. "This... this is the Fade, isn't it?"

"Of course, stupid," Suri scolded me softly.

"So... you are just an illusion?" Maker, I so didn't care as long as she was there with me. My life didn't mean anything to me without her. I would rather live an illusion of happiness than endure a reality of misery. I reached out for her and she took my hands, holding them, gently squeezing them but keeping her distance. I longed to hug her, hold her, kiss her, but when I attempted to embrace her, Suri pulled away.

"Alistair," she whispered, the sound of my name pearling off her lips sent a shiver down my spine. A desperate longing possessed me and I tightened my grip on her hands. "You do not belong here."

"Suri, I... Maker's Breath! I've missed you so much. I do not care if this is the Fade, I do not care what happens to my body. I've been living in a waking nightmare ever since I lost you. Please don't send me away," I begged in despair.

"You have to leave now." Suri said in her soft husky voice. A tinge of sadness touched her dark eyes speckled with gold but her voice did not waver.

"But I want to stay here," I protested forcefully. "I want to be with you. Here we can be together. I love you, Suri. I cannot live without you."

Suri closed her eyes, a shiver ran through her body and it seemed she would reach out for me. Instead she retreated yet another step, straightened, and forced herself to meet my gaze. "Alistair," Suri said sternly, suppressing the tremor in her voice when it threatened to crack. "Do you really believe I made you king and sacrificed myself so you can pack it all in and give up when the going gets tough? You have it in you to become a good king, a great king. You can make a change. For the mages. For the elves. For your people in general. Stop whining and pull yourself together for fuck's sake!"

"You're so bossy," I chuckled sadly, my voice choked from the effort not to cry.

"Damn right I am," Suri snapped, her dark eyes glittering with unshed tears. "And I won't see my plans ruined by your weakness. Play the part you were meant to play, Alistair."

"There's no happiness meant for me then?" I lamented. "Only duty?"

Suri wacked me over the head with her staff so quickly I didn't see it coming. "Open your eyes, you idiot. Your happiness is right there in front of you."

And so I opened my eyes.

A bright red mess of curls framing a pale heart-shaped face with a myriad of freckles dappling a rather snotty nose hovered above me. Large blue eyes, puffed and blurry with tears met mine. "Alistair?" Rori hiccupped in between heartbreaking sobs and relieved laughter. Her lips brushed against my brow, a breeze of a kiss cool against my heated skin. "You're not dead!"

"Huh?" I said, wondering how I came to lie on the ground with my head resting in Rori's lap and her cradling me. I had a splitting headache and before I could go on wondering about my situation, I was nauseous. Rori patted my back, helped me clean myself and rinse my mouth, and then made me lay down again, insisting I needed rest. "What happened?" I croaked. "I'm so dizzy. Ow! My head!"

"The horse threw you off." Rori said softly. "Maker, I thought you were dead. You didn't breathe anymore and I couldn't feel your heartbeat—and then you... came back to me."

"Yeah... she threw me out..." I muttered.

"What?"

"Suri. She said I couldn't stay. She said..." Something important I couldn't remember no matter how hard I tried. The memory trickled away like sand through my fingers.

"Bless her," Rori whispered, her fingers gently stroking my hair as I dozed off again.

When I awoke, Rori was gone. I was all alone, my head resting on Rori's cloak as a makeshift pillow. My own cloak was wrapped around me as a blanket. Breathing in Rori's scent of verbena still lingering on her garment, I wondered where I was and why. Soft footsteps announced Rori's return when I had finally come to the conclusion I should get up and search for her.

"Keep still," she said, kneeling beside me to change the cool cloth on my forehead. "I've paid a messenger to send word to the palace. They will be here soon to take you back. You cannot walk or ride on your own."

"Blast it! I'll be grounded for at least a decade," I groaned. "Eamon will give me a good telling-off."

"Undoubtedly we'll both receive one," Rori sighed.

"Stupid horse." The blasted beast was standing nearby, flicking its ears and shifting nervously. Rori went to take care of it, soothingly talking to it when she checked on the saddle. Suddenly she gasped. "What?" I asked in alert, sitting up abruptly. My vision turned black at once. When I could see again, Rori stood there with her hands covered in blood. "Your hands..."

"It's the horse's blood," she said tonelessly. She held a small metal ball in her hands. It reminded me of the spiky shell of a chestnut, with far longer, nastier spikes.

"What's that?"

"It was stuck under the saddle," Rori said, her voice trembling. She had turned a whiter shade of pale. "That's why the horse bolted. The spikes pressed into its flesh when you sat in the saddle. But... how did it get there?"

Even with a headache that made me wonder if someone was trying to split my skull open I couldn't avoid the elephant in the room... forest... wherever...

Doom!

DOOM!

I would be grounded for the rest of my life. Which would be as long as it took the assassin to dispatch me. Now I wished I had told Rori about the danger. I wished I had taken her seriously instead of regarding her caution as paranoia. Before I could offer an explanation, the thundering of hooves announced the arrival of my royal guard with Teagan and Fergus Cousland at the very front. Rori got up to greet them, the spiked ball still in her hands.

"What have you done?" Fergus barked at his sister the moment he spotted her. He stopped right in front of her, slipped off his horse, and slapped her so forcefully she stumbled backwards.

"HEY!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. My vision went black immediately, forcing me to sink back to my knees. Unable to move I watched the Teryn of Highever haul his sister back to her feet and drag her off by her hair. "What in the name of the Maker...? Leave her alone!"

"Calm down, your Majesty. You are safe now," Teagan said softly, holding me back when I tried to go after Cousland. He shoved Rori into a cage on a carriage and slammed the door shut behind her. She cried and threw herself against the bars over and over again, wild with fear. Helplessly I watched them cart her away.

"What—" I was confused, dizzy, nauseous. I got sick right onto Fergus Cousland's boots when he came to apologize to me for whatever. I didn't understand half of what he said. I was ushered into another carriage, the comfortable version with cushions, where a mage took care of me.

When I awoke again I was lying in my bed with a bandage around my head. It took me a moment to realize where I was and some more moments to remember what had happened. Once I was sure this was not some weird nightmare, I jumped out of bed, clutching the bedside table for support when my head was spinning. Arlington appeared out of nowhere, ready to shoo me back into bed. One look at my face and he changed his mind.

Damn right. It was better not to mess with me right now.

Arlington hurried to fetch my clothes and five minutes later I ran down the corridor, roaring: "EAMON!" at the top of my voice. Seldom did I lose my temper, but today's incident had me seething with anger. Servants, scribes, and guards scrambled out of my way as I stormed past. I barged into the throne room, spotted Fergus Cousland right next to Eamon, and gladly returned the favor he had given Rori earlier. My knuckles hurt but seeing the blood spurting from Fergus's nose was worth the pain. "Where is she?" I demanded to know, grabbing Cousland by the front of his shirt to shake him violently. "What did you do to her?"

"Your Majesty," Eamon said calmly. "Please, don't get upset. There is a reasonable explanation for what happened today."

"Oh, I'm already way past upset, Eamon. I'm seething." I growled menacingly through gritted teeth. Shoving Fergus away, I paced the room unable to control myself. I was worried out of my mind for Rori, guilt gnawing at me for not helping her when she needed me the most. "I do not like to repeat myself. Where is Rori?"

Silence.

I grabbed a goblet from the table and threw it against the wall, wine splattered across the assembled men. I was far too upset and angry to care about my rather unkingly misbehavior. Quite the contrary. I'd had about enough. Ever since Suri's death I had functioned as best I could with the pressure inside growing stronger each day until I was feeling like I could break down at any moment. Overloaded, I struggled to cope with whatever they burdened me with, clinging to anything that would keep me from falling. I just couldn't soldier on anymore. "Where is she?"

"In Fort Drakon," Teagan bravely answered after seeking cover behind the throne.

"WHAT!?" Memories of that doom-laden day when Suri had been held captive in Fort Drakon swamped my mind like an invasion of dark phantoms. I felt the same helplessness and hopelessness drown me, felt the shadows close in around me. Maker's Breath! "Are you mad!?"

"Your Majesty, she is charged with attempted murder," Eamon hurried to explain.

For what seemed an eternity I just stood there and gawked. "This is ridiculous," I finally snorted, my voice shaking with hardly suppressed anger. "Whom did she try to kill?"

"You," Fergus breathed, still clutching his bleeding nose.

"Huh?" Suddenly the vertigo returned so forcefully I slumped down on the throne.

"When Arlington reported you missing this morning we started looking for you, and in the process also searched Lady Cousland's room," Eamon professed.

"You had no right to do so," I mumbled weakly. "It's her private room..." My head was killing me. And I longed for a drink. I went for the next goblet in reach and the assembled men all dived under the table expecting me to throw it at them. Only when they were sure I was solely satisfying my thirst did Eamon go on to present the evidence.

"This is what we found." He handed a letter to me. Adorned with a crow's drawing at the top, it addressed Rori personally, offered her 500 sovereigns for my death, 200 at once, 300 after my termination. At the bottom of the page there was a crow's footprint instead of a signature.

Eamon put a bag filled with gold coins onto the table in front of me while I still frowned at the letter in mere disbelief. "200 Sovereigns," he said gloomily.

"She took the money, lured you out of the palace, and placed this object..." Teagan held up the spiked ball. "... under your saddle."

"It would have been the perfect murder," Eamon added. "A riding accident. Considering your riding skills nobody would have been suspicious. She would have gotten away with it."

"Whoa! Wait! This is ridiculous! Rori didn't do anything. She said she had a tail. I thought she was imagining things but now I believe she was right. That person put the ball under the saddle when she wasn't paying attention."

"That's what she says," Eamon pointed out. "You have no proof but her word."

"That's enough for me," I snapped furiously. "We're friends."

"Are you sure? To me it seems she only fooled you into trusting her. What do you actually know about her? The Antivan Crows accepted a contract before when Loghain hired them for assassinating you and Surana. It was Howe who brought Loghain and the Crows together. At that time, Lady Cousland was Howe's guest."

"You mean his prisoner," I corrected.

"Again, that's the story she told you," Eamon said tiredly. "We do not know for sure about the nature of her relationship with Howe."

"You can't be serious! He tortured and abused her! I demand you set her free at once! This..." I waved the letter in front of the Arl's face. "... is fake!"

"We understand you are fond of the young lady," Eamon went on as if I hadn't said anything at all. What had happened to kings giving orders and subjects obeying said orders? "It is easy for a beautiful woman to fool a young man. Your father made the same mistake. The defeat at West Hill was the result of his credulity. I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away for a worthless wench."

"Alistair, I know it is hard to accept," Teagan said soothingly, gently resting his hand on my shoulder. "I wish it wasn't true, but the evidence is crucial, and unfortunately, quite damning."

Clutching my head, elbows resting on my knees, I allowed his words to sink in. I closed my eyes, summoning my memories, searching for hints I had missed. I went back in time, lived through our first meeting again, I saw her bright smile reserved for me alone, the warmth in her eyes when she regarded me. We had found each other by accident it seemed, kindred spirits bound together by tragedy. I remembered her anxiety when she had told me about the tail she had spotted, how she had hesitated when checking the saddle, her suicidal dive for the reins, the gentleness of her cradling me, the soft pressure of her lips against my brow.

It didn't make sense. Sure, Rori was broke and thus at her brother's mercy. He could force her to marry, but she seemed more likely to run away and join the crew of an infamous pirate queen than to agree to murder the king. Not once had I detected any deceit in her behavior. Quite the contrary, Rori was a rather straightforward young lady, stepping on feet and dropping bricks wherever she went. And why should she try to rescue me and endanger herself when she wished for my death? Last but not least, I neither could imagine the Crows to send a letter with a detailed description of their plans, nor Rori to be so stupid to leave it lying around for everybody and their dog to find it—not with that nosy chaperone lurking about.

"Your evidence does not convince me," I insisted stubbornly, lifting myself off my throne with some effort. Maker, my head was spinning. I needed rest but that would have to wait. I couldn't leave Rori rotting in Fort Drakon. I couldn't even imagine how terrified and scared she had to be right now. "Rori is the perfect scapegoat. You jump to a conclusion because it suits you," I informed my chancellor curtly. Anger, frustration, exhaustion, the turmoil of emotions inside of me made it hard to think straight. I knew only one thing for sure: I had to prove her innocence. King or no, I very much doubted Eamon would ever let me see her again if I didn't convince him.

"Where are you going?" Eamon demanded to know as if I were a disobedient teenager.

"Paying an old acquaintance a visit," I retorted. "Don't even think about trying to stop me. I either go with my royal guard or without them, but go I shall."


	7. Conflicting Evidence

"You want a reason?" Teagan asked exasperatedly, still trying to convince me of Rori's guilt. I wouldn't accept money as a motive. I had offered Rori my help. She knew I wouldn't let her down. So why murder me for money? It didn't make any sense to me. "How about revenge? You killed Howe."

"What!? Howe murdered her family! He tortured her! He raped her! She hates him!" I exclaimed in as much exasperation. Surely he didn't expect me to believe she could have felt anything but hatred for him.

"It's been known to happen—hostages falling in love with their captors," Teagan said softly. "Their minds get twisted by fear and pain until the hatred turns into adoration."

Maker's Breath! If that had happened to her... The poor soul... No, this couldn't be true! "Not Rori! Whenever she talks about Howe, she does so with complete and utter loathing."

"You keep telling yourself that, your Majesty."

"Didn't you only recently say she was enraptured by me?" Teagan was majorly getting on my nerves. I had accepted his company simply because it was easier to drag him along than to fight with Eamon about my entourage. I didn't want to waste precious time so I had said yes to Teagan, to a dozen royal guards, to an emergency healer, and to a carriage drawn by four horses to accompany me; everybody was acting as if I were made of porcelain. So now I slumped in the cushions of my carriage, twiddled my thumbs, and every now and then barked at the coachman to hurry.

"I might have been mistaken," Teagan admitted. "Maker's Breath, Alistair! She was right there with the tool in her hands! The letter, the money… What more do you need to accept the truth?"

Tiredly I massaged my temples. "Everybody keeps telling me what a great king I make because I have a heart of gold. And you always say: 'Listen to your heart, it will guide you.' So I'm here acting on your advice, Teagan."

"Your heart tells you to visit a brothel?" Teagan asked uneasily when he looked out of the window as soon as the carriage stopped.

"Don't let the name fool you. They don't serve broth. I asked."

My arrival at the Pearl caused a mighty concourse of people. Obviously whenever nobles visited a brothel they neither appeared with an entourage of twelve knights in splendid armor, nor did they enter through the front door. Of course I could have avoided becoming the target of vicious gossip if I had invited my acquaintance to the palace. The idle waiting, however, would have driven me crazy. In addition, I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the palace. Last but not least, Eamon would tear his hair out once he heard of my adventures. I was unreasonably gleeful about that.

The proprietor greeted us with an expectant smile and the gleam of greed in her eyes. "Your Majesty," she cooed, already beckoning her employees to form a line behind her. "It's an honor to welcome you..."

"I'm not here to spend any money," I cut her short and the smile was immediately wiped off her face. "I am looking for Zevran Arainai."

"Zevran, you say?" She frowned, tapping her index finger against her chin thoughtfully. Sighing, I dropped a few coins into her palm to jog her memory. "Down the corridor, third door to the left."

And that's where I went, barging in without caring to knock. Big mistake! "Zevran, I... Maker's Breath!" Backwards I tumbled out of the room, covering my eyes with my hand and slamming the door shut again quickly. Surely Rori would last a little longer... Blast no! I couldn't keep her waiting. Utterly fearless I re-entered, strictly staring at my feet this time, though.

"Alistair, my royal friend, what brings you here?" the Antivan elf asked merrily, completely unperturbed by my presence. "Say hello to the King of Ferelden, my lovelies." A greeting in unison from several voices, male and female, followed. "You are welcome to participate..."

"NO!" I shrieked, blushing violently.

"Still the finicky type, I see," Zevran sighed.

"Just take a look at this letter!" I waved the main piece of evidence in his direction.

"Alas, you have some very poor timing, my prim friend."

"It's a matter of life and death!" And when that didn't do the trick, I added: "I'll settle your bill." And just to make sure I got the elf's attention: "Her bosom is rather large."

"Aha! So we rescue the damsel in distress? Just like the old times! Good of you, my friend." Five minutes later, Zevran was decently dressed and filled in on the recent events.

Teagan was none too thrilled by Zevran's presence. "You ask an assassin for help to convict an assassin?"

"Who would know better about assassins than an assassin?" Zevran asked merrily.

"Here!" I beamed triumphantly, and much to Teagan's dismay, handed the main piece of evidence to the former assassin.

"Hmm… this letter is fake," Zevran chuckled after a quick look.

"I knew it! She's innocent!"

"Don't get too excited, my foolish friend," Zevran dampened my enthusiasm. "The Crows did not hire her, but that doesn't mean no one else did. The client could pass themselves off as the Crows. To use the Crows' name and reputation is stupid and suicidal, but people have done more idiotic things. Your little imp isn't off the hook just yet."

"If she really attempted to kill me, why didn't she finish the job while I was unconscious?" I wondered.

"It had to look like an accident," Teagan mused.

"She could have suffocated me with a blanket. Nobody would have noticed."

"Perhaps her conscience pricked her? She could have found she likes you more than she thought," Teagan went on. "See, that's what happened with Katriel, too. She was a bard sent to lure Maric into a trap. She completed her mission by giving him false information about West Hill, but while the battle was still raging, she ran to Maric's aid and saved his life." Zevran and I looked at each other and the elf shook his head no. Yeah, right, better not inform Teagan I was totally willing to forgive Rori and offer her a second chance like Surana had done with Zevran in case his theory was true. My advisors already doubted my sanity.

"Where did you find the letter?" Zevran asked as we left the Pearl and climbed into the waiting carriage.

"She used it as a bookmark," Teagan answered. "The money was in her boots."

"She's either careless, stupid, or quite callous." Zevran rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or someone hid it there for you to find it and put the blame on her."

"But why?" I exclaimed.

"Do you really have to ask?" Teagan sighed. "Your bachelorettes see their hopes dashed to become queen more and more with each passing day. Lady Cousland spends more time with you than all the other ladies combined."

"None of them will become queen when there's no king left to marry," I pointed out. "Unless I return as an undead..." I shut up when Teagan glowered at me.

"What if there's no connection?" Zevran wondered out loud. "You, my dear royal friend, have made a lot of enemies. Many nobles could feel tempted to get rid of you for good while many young women see your little imp as a threat."

"A coincidence?" Teagan snorted in disbelief.

"We shouldn't leave any option out of account," Zevran reasoned. "It is possible that the letter and the money were placed there to discredit her while the attempt on Alistair's life was performed by another group unaware of the intrigue. We should talk to the little imp and see if she can enlighten us."

"You don't really expect her to tell the truth, do you?" Teagan growled. "She'll flat out lie to you to save her life!"

"Lies can be quite revealing, Lord Teagan," Zevran said merrily.

Fort Drakon loomed above us, casting its shadows like a forerunner of doom. The memories connected to this Maker-forsaken place were a source of unrest still haunting me—both in my waking hours and whenever exhaustion forced me to sleep. I crouched on my seat in the carriage, unable to stop trembling, eyes pressed shut, sweat forming on my brow as the images of the past devoured me. The moment the archdemon had collapsed, I had grabbed my sword, ready to act on my duty. Suri's spell froze me right in the motion of charging. Paralyzed, I had been forced to watch her sacrifice herself. I remembered the dead weight of Suri's body in my arms, how she had become cold and stiff while I had clung to her, begging her to return to me...

The moment we passed the gates of Fort Drakon, gaping like a monster's maw, it didn't matter anymore if Rori was innocent. I had failed Suri. I was not going to fail Rori. She would survive, and I would atone for my wrongs. If I died in the process... so be it.

We were shown to the Colonel's office at once. Eamon was already present. Needless to say, I wasn't very keen on meeting him. We still went through the formal greeting when a fat bald man entered. He carried a tray with a whole lot of very nasty looking instruments with him and handed the Colonel a sheet of paper.

"Good news, your Majesty," the Colonel droned and contentedly rubbed his hands. "I've just been informed the captive has confessed."

"Thank the Maker," Eamon said. "Now this farce has come to an end."

"Wait! What did she confess?" Suspiciously I eyed the bald man and his tray. "What did you do to her?!"

"I did nothing to her, your Majesty, Ser," the bald man muttered disappointedly before the Colonel could stop him. "Showed her my tools, that's all I did. Explained to her how they work, and when I showed her my baby..." He took up a very nasty looking instrument reminding me of pincers with four instead of two claws and patted it gently. "... she folded." He heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Don't." Zevran hissed at the same time I went: "What in the name of the Maker is that thing for?"

A gleam of delight lit the torturer's eyes, black and shiny like big beetles. "It's an Iron Spider, your Majesty," he explained keenly. "She's my favorite. I heat her claws until they are red-hot and then clench her around a female breast..." He chortled giddily—until I punched him straight in the face.

"Who gave you permission to torture her!?" I pressed through gritted teeth, my fists clenched.

"I didn't torture her!" the bald man squeaked unhappily, spitting out blood and several teeth. "I didn't even get started! I had her undressed and shackled..." I punched him again. "I am but a faithful servant of His Majesty!" the man whined, covering his head with his hands. "I only act on command!"

"Who gave you this command?" I snarled menacingly. Boy, I was so hopping mad I wouldn't have been surprised if steam had risen from my ears.

"By command of Arl Eamon..." the Colonel stammered, flinching when he saw himself face to face with his frenzied king.

"WHAT!?" Eamon and I exclaimed in unison. I would have lunged myself at him if not for the four guards who entered the room and by their mere presence, worked as a barrier between Eamon and me. "You did this...!?" I snapped at the same time as Eamon went: "I didn't!"

"I received a letter," the Colonel hurried to say, beckoning one of the guards to pass the paper to me.

"Aren't you a bit short for a guard?" I asked currishly, snatching the letter from the guard—the only one to wear a helmet.

"It's hard to find new recruits," the Colonel hurriedly excused his choice of employees. "We take whomever we can get." He went on about the shortage after the Blight, but I wasn't listening anymore. I stared at the letter in my hand, a command signed by Eamon.

"It's his signet but the signature is not Eamon's. I know my brother's handwriting," Teagan blurted out once he had taken a look at the letter.

"Alas, we now have two forged documents," Zevran resumed. "Someone really wants to get rid of the little imp."

"This indeed is alarming," Eamon admitted. "Still, it doesn't change anything about Lady Cousland's confession. We now know for sure she is guilty."

"Are you mad?! We know absolutely nothing!" I insisted. "She confessed after threats of torture. You can hardly take this seriously! I want to talk to her. Now!"

The Colonel immediately sent one of the guards to fetch Rori and we were left waiting. "You indeed are rather short," the Colonel grumbled, regarding the smallest of the remaining guards when the silence in the room became grueling. "How old are you? Twelve? Are you sure you are ready for this?"

"Ser, yes, Ser!" The sound of the guard's voice had me perk my head up. Feeling my eyes lingering, the guard shrank into the shadows.

"Straighten up!" the Colonel barked, stepping around his desk to take a closer look at the new recruit.

Suddenly the door burst open and the guard sent to fetch the captive barged in. "She is gone!" he gasped.

"Gone?!" the Colonel bellowed, turning away from the guard he had just scrutinized.

"We have to find her!" Eamon shouted. "She is dangerous! Colonel, I will hold you personally responsible for her escape!"

That sent them all running. The Colonel barked commands, rushing out of his office with Eamon, Teagan, Zevran, and the guards in tow. When the door slammed shut behind them, I was left alone with the short guard still standing in her corner with her shoulders slumped.

"This is your chance to escape," I said.

"Hardly," Rori answered. After a moment's hesitation, she took off her helmet, revealing a dirty mass of tousled red curls. She had a black eye and her lips were swollen. "They ask for a password at the gates. The one who knows it just ran out the door to search for me."

"Seems like you need a Plan B." I slowly shredded her confession, the paper shavings floating to the ground. Rori watched me with wide eyes.

"Indeed," she croaked, her voice cracked by the effort of holding back her tears.

"You're in luck. I just happen to have one up my sleeve." I grinned.


	8. Plan B

Thank you very much for reveiwing, following, reading this story. :D

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"The weather is fine today, isn't it? All that sunshine makes me miss the good old Fereldan rain."

"Yes, your Majesty," the guard said, entering the typical king/subject conversation. No matter what I say, the answer is always 'Yes, your Majesty' or 'No, your Majesty.' It drives me crazy! But at that moment, it came in rather handy.

"So, you're standing guard, eh?" I chuckled jovially upon passing through the doors the guards opened for me. I was so jittery I had to fight the urge to take Rori's hand for comfort. She was right behind me in disguise, hiccupping nervously. "Keep up the good work."

My plan was to walk us both out of there by my kingly and her guardly demeanor. It was simple but effective—as long as we didn't raise suspicion. With the guards of Fort Drakon, everything worked out fine. They didn't question the actions of their king no matter how strange he behaved, babbling a whole lot of nonsense and presenting a strained smile as if the corners of his mouth were stapled to his ears. For them, it was essential for survival to ignore a superior's weirdness. Not too long ago I had been one of them and thus, I was pretty sure my plan would work out. Although I definitely didn't want to run into Teagan or Eamon; then the jig would be up for sure.

The worst case scenario occurred when we were passing through the vast hall. I heard Teagan urgently call my name. Rori and I both flinched.

"Blast it!" I cursed under my breath. I walked faster, hurried past the guards at the next door, and towards the gates that led into the court. Rori had to jog to keep up with me. Her hiccup took on a hysterical tone.

"Your Majesty!" Teagan cried frantically when I kept ignoring him. "Stop! Stop them! Don't let them pass!" His words were accompanied by many heavy footsteps approaching quickly. Without slowing down I stormed forward.

"Make way!" I snapped at the utterly confused guards at the gates. The poor sods were of two minds about what to do. "Hurry up!"

"Watch out, your Majesty! The escapee!" Teagan shouted. "Catch her! She's in disguise of a guard! Protect the king!"

That unfortunately had the guards jump into action. Weapons drawn they approached Rori, trying to get in between her and me. She reached for her sword to defend herself.

"Blast it!" I couldn't let her kill the guards. They were just doing their jobs. Neither could I allow them to hurt Rori. As if I didn't already have enough problems, Teagan was about to enter the fight.

Doom!

DOOM!

And then I had an afflatus just like that—the perfect solution!

"Take me hostage!"

"WHAT!?" Rori squeaked, gaping at me in mere disbelief.

"We're running out of time!" With the Guerrins and my royal escort at our backs and the guards in front of us, we had to act quickly. Rori, however, was frozen to the spot. She opened and closed her mouth like a stranded carp.

"Put the sword down!" Teagan bellowed, charging her when she didn't react. Startled she dropped her sword, grabbed for her dagger and finally feign-dragooned me into enabling her escape.

"About time," I grunted, trying hard not to appear relieved as my part was that of the damsel in distress.

"This is your brilliant plan!?" Rori hissed. She was so tense her hand was shaking.

"Whoa! Easy now! You're pressing a dagger to my throat, remember?"

"That was your idea!"

"I never claimed it was a good one," I admitted, hardly daring to speak as the blade scraped against my Adam's apple.

When the cries of alarm and horror calmed down, Rori beckoned the guards to open the gates for her, slowly dragging me outside with our pursuers following at a distance.

"We're almost there," I muttered under my breath. We had almost reached my carriage in the court of Fort Drakon. Only a few more steps, each seeming as endless as the Hissing Wastes, separated us from the safety of the coach.

"Lady Cousland, I know you are desperate but this is not the way. Let go of the king and I promise—I swear—we will find a solution." Teagan called out to the girl as he closed in with my guards circling us. On the battlements, several archers were waiting for a clear shot. Rori, however, pressed her body so close to mine they couldn't shoot her without the risk of hitting me. Clever girl.

"Yeah, sure. A final solution," Rori snorted. "Your king is dead meat if you make a wrong move!"

"Stay away, Teagan!" I croaked upon opening the door of the carriage. "She means it! She'll kill me."

"Without hesitation!" Rori confirmed, climbing inside first without lowering her dagger.

"Taking the king hostage is madness, Rori!" Teagen cried desperately.

"My sentiments exactly," Rori muttered.

"She wants Zevran to drive the coach. Maker's Breath! Just do what she says!" I informed Teagan, my voice shaking from the effort not to laugh out loud. Teagan's and Eamon's faces were priceless. Sure I felt sorry for them; they were really worried about me. Still... it was like my pranks back at the monastery. I just didn't react well to being forced to act on a duty I so didn't want to be loaded with in the first place. I didn't have the guts to break free and neglect my duty, but I couldn't endure silently without little outbursts of rebellion. Alright, faking my own abduction probably wasn't that little a rebellion anymore...

I waited until Zevran had taken his place before I backwards climbed into the coach as well. Immediately I drew the curtains. Rori was as white as a sheet, her lips quivering, her eyes wide and dark with fear.

I comfortingly squeezed her hand. "Hey, you did well. If I didn't know better, I'd say you took me hostage for real."

"They won't allow us to leave," she whispered hoarsely when time passed and nothing happened. "I don't want you to get hurt, Alistair. We should end this now."

"They won't let you get away alive!" I protested. "And it would be my fault!" I certainly wouldn't let her down. I was convinced saving Rori was essential for my salvation, a redemption for my failing Suri. Somehow I desperately hoped Rori's rescue would rescue me in return.

Determined to constrain our departure, I peeped out of the window, finding myself almost eye to eye with a guard.

Blast!

Oh well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"ARGH!" I shrieked, making Rori jump. I was lucky she slumped on the seats with her dagger far away from my throat or my method acting would have gotten an unpleasantly realistic touch. "For the love of Andraste! Open the gates! NOW!" I wailed in feigned pain, my own cries answered by those of the guards outside. Above them, Teagan's order to open the gates was followed by the rumbling of the portcullis. The racing start of the coach had me tumble right onto Rori's lap. Fortune favors fools! She had only sheathed her dagger a moment ago or I would have accidentally impaled myself.

Zevran drove at a breakneck speed with a whole lot of sharp turns. Rori and I were thoroughly shaken about and thrown against the wall of the coach when our wild ride ended with a hard stop. Needless to say, this did nothing for my headache. For the moment, adrenaline luckily held it at bay. Zevran opened the door while we were still busy picking ourselves up. "Alistair, my crazy friend, I have shaken them off for now. We shouldn't dawdle, though." He offered Rori his hand to help her climb out of the carriage and led the way down a narrow alley away from the main road. I hurried to catch up with them.

"What next?" I asked excitedly. This was like the good old days when adventure had awaited us around every corner. I could almost hear Suri snarling bossy commands with her unpleasant habit of whacking everybody over the head with her staff when they didn't react quickly enough. Most of the time I had been the recipient of her encouragement. Admittedly, I had gotten lost in the admiration of her swaying hips at inopportune moments every now and then.

"You, my royal friend, will return to the palace..."

"Whoa! Wait! No way! I will not stand idly by while you get all the action! I will come with you. There's an assassin out there trying to kill me and I will hunt him down. I have no intention of waiting for them to come for me first." I was clutching at straws when it came to distracting myself from the grief and sorrow that dominated my life.

"We'll draw more attention than a three-headed Mabari!" Rori excleimed. "You cannot come with us. Eamon will move heaven and Fade to find you. He for sure will put a bounty on my head. There's no way we can find out anything with you in tow."

"Alas, the little imp does have a point," Zevran agreed.

I opened my mouth to protest but already citizens were gathering around and pointing at the dark-skinned elf with his blonde hair and prominent tatoos, the young woman with her bright red curly hair and striking blue eyes, and the walking talking King Maric memorial.

"So you want me to return to the palace where I play target for the assassin?" I sulked. "Eamon is convinced Rori is the culprit. He undoubtedly will concentrate on chasing her instead of finding the real threat. I am not safe in the palace."

"Alas, that is also true," Zevran confirmed, leading us through a passage into the court of a half burnt down house. It was too dangerous to stay in one place for too long. I quickly turned my coat with the Theirin crest inside out. Rori used the ashes of the soot-blackened ruins to cover the Mabaris on my shield before we moved on.

"I'm coming with you," I declared in my best kingly voice. "We'll hunt down the conspirators and prove Rori's innocence. It's ridiculous to believe she's involved in this intrigue..."

"Umm... err... that's not entirely correct..." Rori muttered compunctiously. The sound of her voice had me stop dead.

"WHAT!? You tried to murder me?"

"NO!" she cried forcefully, her fists clenched. "But," she added meekly. "I believe I got hired to kill you... accidentally."

"Accidentally!?" I was completely flabbergasted. Once I regained my composure I grabbed her chin and forced her to look me straight in the eyes. I had been so damn sure she would never...

"I thought it was a joke," Rori explained ruefully, her eyes filling with tears.

"Charming." I huffed, angrily shoving her against a wall. "Let's murder the king! We'll have a whale of a time!"

"Tell us every tiny detail, no matter how unimportant you believe it to be," Zevran demanded, his tone uncharacteristically earnest.

"I'm afraid I don't know much," Rori apologized. She never took her eyes off me but kept her distance, watching me pace. "But what I know I will tell you." She inhaled deeply. "Before we arrived at Denerim, we stayed overnight at a tavern. It was my last chance to run away but once again, I couldn't sneak past my brother's watchdogs. After some useless attempts, I went into a huff behind the barn with some whiskey to keep me company. I had reached the bottom of the bottle and I was quite boozy when I heard a voice close by. 'Shush! Don't turn around!' I looked back and spotted a hooded man peeping out of the window of the barn. His face was cast in shadow and he spoke in a hoarse whisper. 'I said don't turn around!' he hissed. I just sat there with my empty bottle and gawked at him stupidly. He said: 'I have a proposition...' And I was like, 'I'm not that kind of woman!' He insisted: 'You can strike a good bargain. Money...' I was convinced he was making an indecent proposal. I was really very drunk and slow minded but when he promised me an Arling to rule, it began to dawn on me that perhaps he was not trying to get into my pants. 'Huh?' I slurred. 'What are you talking about?' That's when he called himself a freedom fighter and revealed that he intended to recruit me for the sake of Ferelden."

I hung on Rori's every word when she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "'You will play an important part in the liberation of Ferelden. You have the privilege of freeing our beloved nation from the usurper.'" She shrugged, implying that she hadn't taken his chatter seriously. "He went on and on about patriotism and such. I thought he had lost his marbles so I only half listened to him. And then I dozed off until he barked into my ear: 'Will you, for the love of your country, carry out this sacred duty?' And I said: 'Sure, whatever.' Just to make him shut up."

"Can you describe the man?" Zevran asked intently.

Rori frowned. "All I could see was his nonexistent chin... I mean, he was chinless. Clean-shaven. Oh! There was a wart at the corner of his mouth..."

"I suppose anything is better than nothing." I sighed. Assuming she didn't lie, that is. "Did he give you any money?" I just had to know. If she had accepted payment...

"No and I wouldn't have accepted..." Her voice faded, she frowned, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Okay, I would have accepted it. It's not like I would still have a single coin to my name. I would have spent it all on booze by now."

I coughed to suppress a laugh, hiding my smile with my hand. Her special brand of honesty was quite disarming. "What happened then?" I asked as sternly as possible. I am afraid I wasn't very convincing.

"The next morning I awoke in front of the barn, chilled to the bone and with a nasty hangover," Rori remembered. "The man was gone and I wondered about my strange dreams. Then I forgot about the whole thing until a week after my arrival at the palace when I received a note. It was hidden under my breakfast toast. At first I thought it was a joke... But then I recalled the man at the barn. The cabal was losing patience. They had been watching me spend time with Alistair and had assumed I was befriending him to earn his trust. They were utterly disappointed that I hadn't yet even tried to murder him."

"What did you do with the note?" I inquired.

"I ate it on toast with butter and orange marmalade. It was rather dry."

"You should have seasoned it with nose-pickings," I laughed, unable to feign infuriation any longer. A shy relieved smile was Rori's reply. "But why didn't you tell me?" The smile vanished.

"I... I didn't know what to say," she confessed unhappily. "I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. I was afraid I would get locked up again. More than anything, I was afraid I'd lose..." She bit her lips to stop herself from blurting out a confession she wasn't ready to make. There was something in her eyes that touched a chord deep down inside me. I was still gawking trying to make sense of that brief bittersweet sensation when she straightened up, cleared her throat, and empathetically declared: "... such a formidable king! It would have been a terrible loss for this nation and... err..." She lost trail of her thoughts when Zevran and I began to chuckle. "I thought I could make things right again by watching over you and sending Eamon several anonymous warnings..." Rori whispered miserably. "My cowardice put you at risk... I am so sorry Al—er... your Majesty."

I was of two minds about her story; my heart, however, had come to a conclusion. "I suppose your confession leaves me no option but to..." I paused, emphasizing the severity of the moment. Rori's eyes filled with tears. She hung her head in defeat. "... give you a hug." And that's what I did, briefly but comfortingly. She was so stunned, she just let it happen.

"Wh-what was that for?" Rori stammered.

I shrugged, cracking a smile. "You seemed to need a hug."


	9. Irredeemability

Thank you so very much for the reviews. And for reading in general. :D

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"Take off your shoes before you enter. My mum will flip out if you leave muddy footprints on her floor," the tall copper-haired man warned when we reached the ramshackle house in the alienage. It was one of many recently erected buildings. Elves really are incredibly creative when it comes to recycling waste. They are the grandmasters of patchwork architecture.

The man's name was Slim Couldry and he was one of Zevran's many friends. As Zevran calls everybody and their dog his friends I wasn't sure if we could trust Couldry, but we didn't have much of a choice. We needed help and a hiding place and the halfblood offered both. He wasn't really fond of Rori and me as we were what he called "the establishment," but he recalled Suri had put an end to the slave trade in the alienage so he was willing to make an exception.

Since Rori and I couldn't walk around the alienage in our own—or in Rori's case, stolen—clothing if we wanted to pass as halfbloods, Slim had outfitted us with... rags. Rori wore a patchwork skirt Arlington wouldn't even have considered fit for cleaning the floor. Her blouse was too small and quite tight around her chest. My pants and shirt were held together by patches and the shoes had been tied together with strings to keep the soles from falling off.

Obediently we left our footwear in front of the door as not to anger Mrs. Couldry. She rented out rooms—correction: one room—and her son planned to introduce us as potential lodgers. He claimed it was the perfect hiding place and we were in no position to argue.

"Hello, Mum! I'm back..."

"Severin Lloyd Ichabod Miles Couldry!" a sharp female voice answered. "Where have you been? You're late!"

The tall man flinched. "You know you're in trouble when your mum calls you by your full name," he muttered under his breath.

"Tell me about it!" Rori agreed wholeheartedly.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Couldry demanded to know, arms akimbo, when she caught sight of us. She was a tiny, spindly woman in her early fifties. Once upon a time she must have been a striking beauty, but life in the alienage had taken its toll and she had aged before her time. Her eyes, however, gleamed with determination and there was not a single stain on her well-worn clothes. Her home was just as spotless. According to her demeanor it was better not to tangle with her, so Zevran, Rori, and I greeted her politely while Slim introduced us.

"These are Al... err..." Just in time he bit his tongue.

"Albert," Rori prompted quick-wittedly. "And I am Rosie. We're from Lothering. We're looking for a place to stay." With Rori's help, Slim convinced his mother to rent the chamber under the roof to Rori and me after Rori swore by Andraste that we were a married couple.

"Albert? Really?" I complained under my breath when Mrs. Couldry led the way upstairs to show us the room. Zevran had to stay downstairs. She claimed he was bad influence on her dear Severin. Obviously, Mrs. Couldry had no idea how her son earned his crust.

"When lying, stick as close to the truth as possible," Rori lectured me.

"How close to the truth did you stick when you told my mum you're married!?" Slim protested. "I understand you're undercover but I'd very much appreciate if you didn't misuse the name of our beloved Lady Andraste..."

"Your mum wouldn't have let the room to us," Rori defended her emergency lie. Mrs. Couldry, like her son, was a faithful Andrastian and it was beyond question she wouldn't have accepted two people sharing a room in her house out of wedlock—or anywhere for miles around.

The chamber had no more than three solid walls and opened onto a rooftop garden. A patchwork curtain of all kinds of leather and cloth—some suspiciously looking like flags of noble houses lost on the battlefield—offered protection against wind, rain, or heat. The elf-style suite was furnished with fresh straw and two blankets on the floor, a battered washbowl, and a chipped chamber pot. Everything in the house reeked of poverty and yet Mrs. Couldry put forth so much effort to keep it clean and make it as cozy as possible. Surana, the daughter of an elven whore and an unknown sailor, had grown up in the pre-Blight Denerim alienage. She had told me about the misery of her people but I didn't truly understand what poverty meant until I saw it with my very own eyes. Before, I had considered myself poor. Afterwards I never once complained about any hardship again. When I had first entered the alienage I had made a silent promise I would better the life of the elven people if I became king. Four months later and I hadn't yet achieved a single improvement. Instead, I had spent my time grieving, wailing, feeling sorry for myself and getting drunk... Maker's Breath, I was worth less than these poor people that so many regarded as scum.

While I was still castigating myself, Mrs. Couldry declared in a commanding tone that would have made Anora go green with envy, "Here's the rules: You pay the rent in advance every week. This is a respectable house. I do not tolerate the demon alcohol, fornication, swearing, or any other disgraceful behavior..." Her catalogue of rules was longer than the Chant of Light. Last, but not least: "Don't touch my tomatoes!" She pointed at several potted plants on the rooftop garden. "The last tenant was a terrible drunkard. He tried to deny it but there's nothing I do not see." Glowering at Rori and me, she pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes. "In case you find one of his hiding places, you will inform me at once. Now refresh yourselves. I expect you in the kitchen in five minutes."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Rori and I said in unison. With some effort I fought down the urge to salute.

Exactly five minutes later Mrs. Couldry mustered us in her kitchen, checking if the men had washed their hands before she assigned tasks. Rori did not undergo any inspection. Mrs. Couldry obviously didn't hold male bodily hygiene in high esteem.

Rori almost gave us away when she only stared uncomprehendingly at the heap of potatoes she was meant to peel. She had never in her whole life peeled a potato and cut her finger as soon as she picked up the knife. "Blast!" she cursed, sucking at her finger. Mrs. Couldry's reaction came without the least delay. She whacked Rori over the head with her ladle.

"No swearing!" Mrs. Couldry snapped. "Look at how you hold that knife! Have you never..." She grabbed for Rori's hands and the sharpness of her voice faded when she became aware of their condition. "Oh my poor darling!"

"It's alright, really. I will manage. It's just a little tricky," Rori insisted forcefully, pulling her hands away. I watched her bravely struggle with her potatoes for some time, focused intently on the impossible task before her, the tip of her tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of her mouth. It was a battle she couldn't win and I took mercy on her when she was close to tears. It had to be utterly frustrating for her to have lost her dexterity.

"Peeling potatoes happens to be my most favorite pastime," I lied, fully aware that the last thing she wanted was pity. Gently, I took the knife from her. There was so much gratitude in her eyes for so small a gesture.

"You can peel potatoes?" Rori gaped as if I had confessed I could turn plumbum into gold.

"Back at the monastery I won the potato peeling championship three years in a row," I whispered, winking at her conspiratorially.

"You have some very unexpected qualities," Rori observed with a lopsided grin.

During the jejune meal, my headache returned full force as the magical potion's effect wore off. After supper, Rori was recruited to help Mrs. Couldry with the dishes. Slim and Zevran made use of that unwatched moment and introduced their plan to me. I could hardly follow their conversation. Slim had snitches amongst the elven servants he would contact. And he mentioned fifteen cousins—whatever they were meant to do, I was supposed to pay them. That was all I got before they hauled me upstairs and I collapsed on the hay. I only once opened my eyes when Rori poured yet another potion down my throat, then I drifted into oblivion.

When I awoke, darkness surrounded me. At first I didn't know where I was. I lay in the gloom, hardly daring to breathe as I listened to the noises of the city outside. They were as alien as the smell of poverty polluting the air. I couldn't imagine a more blatant contrast to the palace. Even during the Blight when we hadn't been traveling in the lap of luxury, I had never been as poor as the people in the alienage. Alienage, right. Slim Couldry. I was at his mother's place. The memories returned and with them my worries for Rori. Hurriedly I searched for her and found I had worried for no reason. She was sitting cross-legged in Mrs. Couldry's roof garden safe and sound—and a bit tipsy already.

"I found the booze!" she greeted me, holding up a dirty bottle. "It smells like cat piss and tastes like acid."

"Then it's obviously the best liquor for drowning one's sorrows. We wouldn't want to enjoy our excessive mind-numbing, would we?"

"How's your head?"

"It's much better. It's about time to do something against it." I slumped down beside her, accepting the bottle. We sat together, watching the full moon rise and mercilessly spotlighting the squalor below with its silver glow. People lived here day after day with no hope to ever escape this misery. And I whined about my fate and got drunk because I couldn't cope with the loss of my love and the responsibility of being king. Still, people insisted I had a heart as strong as a Mabari's and twice as big. What a joke!

Rori's thoughts took the same turn. "So much poverty and misery and still they live their lives the best they can," she whispered when distant music and laughter echoed through the streets. Under the tree in the center of the alienage elves gathered, sharing whatever food they had, their stories and songs. "I mean, look at Mrs. Couldry," she croaked, her voice husky with tears. "She got raped but she loves Slim despite him being the spitting image of his father, a constant reminder of what happened to her. She neither lost hope nor faith but brought up her son as best she could. I... I don't even know where my baby is. I do not want to know. I'm disgusted with myself but I cannot find any love inside of me for that child... there's only fear and guilt and pain." She blinked rapidly and when that didn't help, pressed her fists to her eyes. The tears still streamed down her face. "Bloody blast it! I'm so sick and tired of crying all the time," she sniffled, angrily wiping her nose at her sleeve. "Fergus says that he doesn't know me anymore, that Howe has beaten the Cousland out of me. He says I'm a shame for the family; a blemish on our name and legacy... Oh Maker! If only I knew what to do... but with these hands... I am so useless..."

"Your brother is wrong," I protested softly, taking her hands in mine carefully. This time she didn't pull away. They were so small and fragile—a reflection of her vulnerability. Gently I began to massage her hands and fingers one by one, flexing and bending them. Suri once had broken both her hands when she had lost her patience with Shale—oh, she quite had a temper!—and punched the golem in the chest. Not one of her brightest moments, but, yeah, afterwards Wynne had shown me how to treat her healed fingers to regain their litheness. "You survived. Many would have given up; you didn't. It's okay to cry. You're a girl and that's what girls do, remember?" I offered a wink and a lopsided grin.

"…Do you believe it will ever feel right again?" Rori hardly dared to ask, her voice a hushed whisper. She leaned in closer, her face only inches away from mine, a faint spark of hope glinting in her dark eyes.

I let go of her hands, cupping her face instead to gently brush her tears away. Instinctively she flinched but when I withdrew she laid her hand onto mine, leaning into the touch. This simple gesture provoked a storm of confusing emotions I wasn't ready for. Abruptly I recoiled. Hanging her head, Rori closed her eyes and I realized I couldn't endure seeing that gleam of hope fade into the merciless irredeemability covering her like a thick layer of dust that shrouded her world in different shades of grey until she didn't know anymore what she was living for. She was a reflection of myself and I clung to the possibly erroneous assumption that saving her would bring me salvation. Maker's Breath, how could she cope with yet another disappointment? I for sure couldn't. I yearned to ease her pain and so I lied with desperate fervor. "Yes. Yes, I do believe it will."

And then I kissed her.

Really, I do not know what came over me. I wanted to feel something, anything but the dull ache that dominated my bleak days. I wanted that spark to fly, blaze like a wildfire inside of me and fill the emptiness with warmth and light.

Once my lips brushed against hers, I lost courage. Guilt crashed against me like a tidal wave. After my impetuous assault I deservedly felt like a complete idiot. Stammering some nonsense apology I made a quite hasty retreat. Alas, I hadn't really considered Rori and how she would react. In her stunned and drunken state, she only gasped and gaped like a mooncalf, then chose the very moment I leaned backwards to lean forwards. She lost her balance, tumbled against me, and landed on top of me.

And then she kissed me.

She was so terribly nervous, scared, and drunk; she trembled violently. Combined with her adorably clumsy inexpertness we didn't get to do much more than bang our foreheads together and clink our teeth before Rori lost her nerve, recoiled, and vomited into one of Mrs. Couldry's tomato pots.

"Eww." Rori groaned, wiping her mouth at her sleeve. Then she reached for the bottle to rinse her mouth thoroughly with liquor. Her face was ashen. "Bloody blast it!"

"I suppose that spares me from having to ask whether I am a good kisser," I sighed resignedly. Blast, what else to expect after what she had gone through? And after how much she had drunk. Still, I was devastated, my manly feelings were seriously hurt. And what did Rori do? After she was done with her projectile vomiting, she accomplished her mission of completely emasculating me by bursting into a gigglefit. She laughed so hard she snorted her drink out of her nose and finally collapsed on the floor, rolling around in hysterics.

In a feigned huff—honestly, who could have been mad at her for real?—I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pressed my lips together, determined to stay earnest.

I lasted about three seconds.

In the end we were breathless and utterly spent. Still shaken by the aftermath of our conniption we lay on our backs, watching the starlit canopy above.

"I believe we have reached the epitome of awkwardness," I chortled, clutching my aching belly.

"Hehehe," Rori giggled.

"You are as nutty as a fruitcake, my lady," I grinned, teasingly poking her side.

"You flatter me, your Majesty." Rori propped herself up on her elbow, hovering above me, a toothy grin adorning her face. Her dark eyes were sparkling with mirth, her cheeks flushed prettily. She was radiating an untainted joy so pure and electrifying it chased all her ghosts away and for the first time since I had met her, I glimpsed her former self.

"What?" Rori asked with a frown when she became aware of me gaping at her in awe. "Is there something stuck between my teeth?"

"Maker's Breath," I whispered, "but you are beautiful."

She blushed but wagged her finger at me. "Don't get smarmy with me, Ser. It's not very gentlemanly to make fun of a lady."

"Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought." Catching her hand when she poked my tummy, I kissed it. "I would never address compliments to a woman carelessly." Rori's face took on the color of Mrs. Couldry's tomatoes. Confused, she stared at my hand still holding hers, my thumb gently stroking her palm.

"We shouldn't..." she began hesitantly. Biting her lips, she stopped herself, watching me intently. I was dizzy, my head was spinning and my mind was in a thick haze, so damn baffled I couldn't have said for sure if this was reality or just a dream. "Oh bloody blast it! What of it!" Rori blurted out defiantly.

And then we kissed. Really kissed.

Maker's Breath! Blast, yes, this was real.

Her lips against mine were as soft as rose petals. An innocent brush, a touch as light as a feather, testingly staying on the safe side until Rori's arms slipped around my neck, her fingers entangling with my hair, and my arms wrapped around her waist, my palm resting at the small of her back. I pulled her tightly against my body, the softness of her bosom pressing against my solid chest. Teasingly I nibbled her lower lip, flicking my tongue against her teeth, coaxing her into deepening the kiss. A soft mewing noise escaped her mouth as she opened up to me, surprised yet laced with desire. It was such an adorable sound, both innocent and passionate, it sent a shiver down my spine that spread through my whole body. Up until then, some part of my brain still had been active enough to let me exercise restraint. Well, blast that! Rori was inexperienced but—Merciful Andraste!—she was a quick study. Swoosh! and my troubled mind was made empty, replaced by nothing but the sensation of her body close to mine. Within a heartbeat I caught fire. Whatever sorrow and grief had been suffocating me was burnt away by the fierce caress of Rori's kiss.

Maker's Breath! For ages I hadn't felt so... alive!

Too bad it couldn't last forever. Already when we held each other, breathless and flushed, guilt hit me like a golem fist. The whole weight of my responsibility crashed down on me. My grief for Suri made me compare my lost love to the woman in my arms. Rori didn't stand a chance in this competition. She was beautiful, clever, funny, adorable... She was everything a man could wish for—but she wasn't Suri.

Lying there, I felt like a complete jerk for having betrayed Suri... and for having taken advantage of Rori... Maker's Breath! She didn't expect a proposal now, did she? She wasn't queen material. She really was great company and without the heir hitch and the whole king business and my dedication to Suri... maybe this could be something. But as it was, it was unthinkable to even consider her as my wife... or anything else that included any... um... lamppost-licking activities... And with that train of thought, of course, my treacherous imagination at once produced lewd visions of a whole lot of rather thrilling lamppost-licking activities...

Sigh.

While my brain assaulted me with a whole lot of thoughts I rather had not thought because they were altogether unpleasant and I soon thoroughly disliked myself for having any of them, all that time there was this warm, fuzzy feeling whirling around inside of me like a will-o'-the-wisp. This spark just wouldn't smolder out, no matter how hard I tried to suffocate it. Instead, when I looked at Rori and saw that the gleam in her eyes had turned into a sapphire glow, that blasted feeling became warmer and fuzzier, settled into my heart and struck roots at once like rampant weeds. Before I really could get hold of that alien emotion, it was covered by a thick layer of guilt, grief, and self-hatred. All that was left in the end were feelings of loss and confusion.

Doom!

DOOM!

Why was everything so maddeningly complicated?


	10. Revelations

My conflicting emotions deprived me of sleep. Lying in my arms, Rori had dozed off a while ago, her head resting on my shoulder. Her warm breath tickled the crook of my neck. When I buried my face in her hair I inhaled the fresh, tangy scent of verbena. Closing my eyes, I tried to invoke Suri's image, but with the soft warmth of an unmistakably female body pressed against mine, all I could think about was how much I longed to fondle Rori's breasts...

Maker's Breath! I had only just kissed her. Granted, it was several times and it had been quite steamy... but still...

Alright! Busted! I admit it: I have a preference for full-bosomed women—a predilection I never confessed to Suri. With her gamine figure, her breasts were the size of midges' bites—Oghren's words, not mine... It's a miracle he lived to regret telling her she had small breasts for a gal. Especially since he told Zevran the very same right before passing the compliment on to Surana. Anyway, Suri's admittedly quite small breasts had been her weak spot—the chink in her armor, so to speak. Next to her mop of frizzy hair, that is. I loved her nonetheless. To me, she had been the most beautiful woman I had ever met—frizzy hair, small bosom, and everything...

Notwithstanding, our encounter with Captain Isabela had been quite... thrilling... concerning bosoms... No wonder Suri hadn't talked to me for two weeks afterwards... although it so hadn't been my idea!

Rori... she was in no way inferior to Isabela when it came to busty bosoms...

Maker's Breath! I had to be really drunk, really desperate, or really needy if all I could think about was breasts...

Suri. I had to focus on her. On the purity of our love... But the only images popping up in my mind were those of our first night together. She had asked me once and I had panicked. I had not been prepared for any... lamppost licking. I was ashamed of my lack of and intimidated by Suri's treasure trove of experience. Let's just say she was the adventurous type. When she had asked me a second time, I hadn't dared to turn her down again. She had been all, "Ready or not, here I come." She had knocked me flat and for sure had expanded my horizons.

Still, I had always felt I wasn't able to match up with her... Rich in experience and several years my senior, she had always been the one in charge—including the times when she didn't have any clue as she had never been one to admit she didn't know what she was doing.

Without her, I was like an abandoned dog that still hadn't accepted the fact that his mistress wouldn't return. My loneliness consumed me. It gnawed at my soul. Until tonight I had walked a lonely road that had led me straight downhill. Now, all of a sudden there was a turnoff and I had to decide whether to plunge forward into disaster by continuing my downhill journey, or to choose the road less traveled and at least try to lead a somewhat content life.

That sounds quite simple, doesn't it?

Well, it wasn't.

Riven with grief, I was convinced I deserved misery for always and forever until my dying day. I just couldn't shake off the guilt of having failed Suri, of having abandoned her when she had needed me the most. It felt so wrong to lie here with this beautiful ginger maiden in my arms while Suri was lying in her cold grave. At the same time, it felt so damn right to be with Rori I yearned to embrace the comfort she offered.

Nothing was right. I was torn and unable to rest. When I couldn't endure any more, I fled from Rori's embrace, leaving her, leaving the chamber. In my dreadful state of mind, I got it into my head I would find my murderer out there and face him alone in a single combat—an ultimate showdown. Only it was not the faceless killer I imagined collapsing in a puddle of his own blood...

"Where do you think you're going at this un-Andrastian hour?" Arms crossed in front of her chest, Mrs. Couldry blocked my way.

"Err..."

"You're drunk," she observed disgustedly.

"I am not..."

Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. "Lies don't travel far, son. Didn't I tell you I see everything?" She pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes.

"Ow! Hey! Don't hit me! I bruise easily." I covered my head with my hands. "I only just recovered from a concussion."

"You need some sense knocked into you," Mrs. Couldry growled, ladle at the ready. "You want to leave? Tell me, what is a hiding place good for when you don't hide in it, your Majesty?" My jaw dropped. "Close your mouth, son. You look like a stranded carp." She tapped her ladle at my chin.

"B-but... why?... how?... what?" I stammered.

"Didn't I tell you I see everything?" She sharply pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes. "Also, I have good hearing. That does not apply to you considering how often I have to repeat myself."

"All this time you knew who I am?" I stammered.

"That's what I said. You're not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?" Mrs. Couldry observed mercilessly, completely unimpressed by the presence of her monarch in her modest little cottage.

"Rori and I... we're not married," I blurted out, still shocked by the tiny woman's revelation.

"You don't say…" Mrs. Couldry deadpanned. "I expect you to correct that as soon as possible."

"Wh-what?!" I squeaked. "B-but I cannot marry Rori!"

Mrs. Couldry glowered at me, menacingly slapping her ladle at her palm. "You don't like her?"

"Well, yes, I do..." I stammered, retreating a few steps to get out of reach of her ladle.

"Then what's the problem?" Mrs. Couldry demanded to know as if there were no problem at all.

"It's complicated..." I muttered evasively.

"Bah! You make it complicated. That's quite a difference."

It wasn't that simple, was it? I opened my mouth and closed it again when Mrs. Couldry wagged the ladle my way. "But if you knew all along..." I mumbled lamely instead. "Slim said you had no idea..."

"Slim likes to believe his mother is an unsuspecting old woman. But it is he who has no clue," she chortled as she guided me towards the table by poking me with her ladle. "Here, take a seat. Have a cup of tea. And then tell good old Mrs. Couldry what's bothering you."

"You won't take no for an answer, will you?" I sighed, obediently slumping down on the ramshackle chair.

"You're smarter than you look." Mrs. Couldry poured me a cup of tea—chamomile (it grew on the meadows in the hills around Denerim). Elves couldn't afford the luxury of imported black or green tea. Reluctantly, I turned the cup around in my hands. It was a favor from Cailan's and Anora's wedding with a faded picture of the smiling couple. "Come on, son, pluck up your courage. I don't bite!" Mrs. Couldry urged me kindly. Pointedly I glared at her ladle. Grinning sheepishly, Mrs. Couldry slipped it under the table.

So, resignedly, I told her everything, starting with my childhood—how first my father, then Arl Eamon had abandoned me. With the second cup of tea I described my outsider life in the monastery, portrayed Duncan and the Grey Wardens and how I had lost them at Ostagar. Then—for a whole pot of tea—it was all about Suri. How she had changed my life, how she had given me strength, love, happiness—and how I had lost it all in a heartbeat. Afterwards I shortly introduced Mrs. Couldry to the difficulties of a life as Ferelden's monarch and lunged myself into a detailed description of my guilt-induced self-hatred. When I was finally done pouring my heart out to a stranger with the patience of a saint, Mrs. Couldry regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, knocking her ladle against the table.

"Your love, would she want you to be unhappy if she were still alive?" She came straight to the point.

"Never! Suri always said I deserve happiness."

Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. "Then why do you believe she would change her mind in death?" Mrs. Couldry asked sharply.

"She wouldn't..." I mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. "But how can I find happiness without Suri?"

"Life is what you make of it, son."

She was right. And from her it wasn't just an empty platitude. She was the living example of her own wisdom.

And what did I do? Did I have an epiphany that changed my life? Nope. Sniveling simp I was, I sulked: "Nothing I do will ever bring Suri back. Why did she have to die? Why did the Maker desert her?"

Immediately Mrs. Couldry wacked me over the head with her ladle again. I guess I deserved it.

"Come here, son," Mrs. Couldry ordered sternly as she crossed the room and knelt before a makeshift altar. A tiny wooden statue of Andraste stood on a small table, framed by a candle and a vase with field flowers. Mrs. Couldry beckoned me to join her, then she folded her hands in prayer. Obediently, I followed suit.

"Maker," Mrs. Couldry said with her strong clear voice, "give this fool next to me the serenity to accept the things he cannot change, and the strength to change the things he can." She cast a sharp look at me, squinting her eyes, and added:" And the wisdom to know the difference. Amen."

"Amen," I muttered, unable to bite back a grin.

"Got it?" Mrs. Couldry asked coolly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," I confirmed.

"About time," she snorted.

Mrs. Couldry disappeared into her kitchen when Rori came downstairs. We had a whole lot of things to sort out and I neither knew what I truly felt nor what I really wanted nor how to explain any of the above to Rori...

She blushed prettily when she caught sight of me, then shyly cast her eyes down and kneaded her fingers uneasily. And so we awkwardly stood there, shifting our weight and looking anywhere but at each other. The silence between us grew unbearable. I opened my mouth to say something, lost courage, and made a remark about the weather instead. Rori muttered an equally useless reply. We laughed awkwardly and fell silent again.

"Merciful Andraste!" Mrs. Couldry's voice sounded from the kitchen. "If you don't kiss her at once I am going to beat you up with my ladle, king or no! You haven't forgotten how it works since last night, have you?"

Huh?

Blast it! That woman really did see everything!

"Wha-?" Rori began confusedly when I swept her up in my arms and kissed her. I couldn't endure any more of Mrs. Couldry's ladle attacks.

"Ohhh... so it wasn't a dream," Rori breathlessly murmured against my lips when we finally broke the kiss. With manly pride I noted that her knees were so wobbly, she clung to me to keep herself upright. "It seemed too good to be true..."

"I'm glad I could convince you of the contrary," I whispered hoarsely. Fuzzy-headed, I felt like I was floating three feet above the ground. It wasn't quite cloud nine, but after I had wandered an emotional wasteland for what seemed an eternity, cloud number three or four was more than I had ever dared to dream of.

"I still can't believe it... You have a whole lot more persuading to do, it seems," Rori grinned impishly.

"I suppose I could arrange that." I nibbled at her lower lip—and Rori bit me teasingly in return. Her own boldness both surprised and scared her. She surged forward, pressing her body to mine, deepening the kiss, sucking my tongue into her mouth—and went rigid in my arms when she felt the effect she had on me hard against her stomach. "Sorry..." I began. Then my apology was suffocated by her mouth covering mine. Without breaking the kiss, she bent forward with her lower body as far away from mine as possible. My fingers entangled with her hair as I leaned toward her, her trembling hands rested at my shoulders as our tongues intertwined in tender passion.

Bang! The door burst open. Rori and I jumped apart, startled by the sudden entry of Slim Couldry and Zevran.

"We found the bastard!" Slim blurted out excitedly.

"Language! Don't make me bring my ladle in there, young man!" Mrs. Couldry shrieked from the other room.

"Sorry, Mum! Anyway, chinless with a wart at the corner of his mouth... This description rung a bell. I just couldn't put my finger on it until I overheard some gossip about Loghain in the market place. Loghain's seneschal! He... oh!" The copper-haired halfblood stopped dead, looking from Rori to me and back again. "Did you just kiss her?" he asked suspiciously. "Maker! My mum could have seen you!"

"Slim, about your mother," I began and hurriedly bit my tongue when I caught sight of Mrs. Couldry glaring daggers at me behind Slim's back. She swung her ladle like a club. "Your mother... she's a real fine lady..."

Zevran uncharacteristically stayed in the background, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe as he examined us closely from half-hooded eyes. "Alistair, my friend, I am surprised to see your period of mourning has come to an end," he purred into my ear in his thick accent when we left to seek Loghain's seneschal. "You console yourself with a beautiful woman. Still waters run deep, my friend."

The sound of his voice made me shudder. I was guilty as charged, caught red-handed kissing another woman with passion when I should have been steeling my heart against any emotion that was not reserved for Suri.

Zevran read my expression like an open book. "Do you really believe Suri would have deprived herself the comfort of another man's embrace after you broke her heart?" he laughed. "You didn't know her at all, my naive friend. She sought solace and I gave it to her gladly. No worries, she was well taken care of during her last days." Smirking, Zevran slapped my back amiably. "You see? There's no reason to feel guilty."

Clutching my chest, I checked to see if he had stabbed me. Considering the pain that bore into my heart, I wouldn't have been surprised if my hands had come away covered in blood.


	11. Collateral Damage

Rache: Aww, thank you! Comments like yours really do mean a lot to me. I'm glad you like it. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

KoraKendalls: Haha, yeah, he doesn't seem to believe Alistair needs to be handled with velvet gloves. ;)

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews welcome.

The rating will probably change next chapter from T to M.

* * *

Chapter 11 - Collateral Damage

Breathe, Alistair. Breathe!

The pain in my chest was excruciating. The pressure of unshed tears unleashed a splitting headache. My mouth was dry; I had trouble swallowing. All I wanted to do was curl up and weep. I was sure I would collapse. I even turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to see myself on the ground. Instead, I kept walking.

The entire time Zevran's jovial babbling hailed down on me as if he intended to lapidate me with his confession. He was mercilessly forthcoming with information I would have rather done without. At the same time, I was dying to know every single agonizing detail. I learned that Neria Surana, the love of my life, had sought refuge in Zevran's arms the very moment I left her after ending our relationship. While I had spent the night drowning in unhappiness and devoured by guilt, she had taken part in some excessive lamppost licking. Zevran gave a rather detailed description but I was too weak to fend him off, too shocked to feel embarrassed. The following nights until her death she had spent in the company of the Antivan elf. "She kept it secret because she didn't want to hurt you," Zevran confided to me.

"How very considerate of her," I heard myself mutter. I so didn't sound like myself.

Relax. Take it easy.

So Suri messed about with Zevran after you dumped her. No big deal, right? She didn't owe you anything, least of all faithfulness. You made it clear you were going to marry another woman. So, it's only reasonable she found herself another man—within five minutes after you broke up with her...

Breathe, Alistair. Breathe!

Zevran was there for her when you failed her. True, you never trusted that two-faced bastard. But honestly, Alistair, your aversion was mostly caused by your rivalry. You're jealous, that's it. Suri found him attractive and his nonchalance intimidated you from the very beginning. Then she chose you over him—the biggest ego boost ever. You suddenly felt like a real manly man. No reason to feel emasculated now. Zevran, he's only the consolation prize.

Relax. Take it easy.

She didn't spend her last days alone, but found comfort. Well, good for her! You wouldn't want to begrudge her that little bit of solace, would you? Don't you claim to love her? How true is your love when you get into a huff because she didn't break down, her heart forever broken and unable to ever love again?

Well, wasn't it awesome? I hadn't expected I could feel worse after Zevran's little admission. Boy, was I wrong!

Next to feeling betrayed and discarded and useless, next to wondering if our love had meant anything at all to Suri or if I had been fooled by an illusion, I was confronted with a truth that was especially hard to swallow—that I did indeed selfishly expected Suri to suffer as I was suffering. All this time I had castigated myself for having left her broken-hearted and alone—and now that I found she had recovered rather quickly, I was affronted by her heartlessness. Love had left me bruised, broken, and bleeding and I resented her for being the faster healer.

And she said I had a heart of gold!

Yeah, fool's gold...

Maker preserve me!

I was hardly paying attention to where we went. I certainly wasn't listening to Zevran anymore. No matter where his words ricocheted they still hit the mark and cut me like a thousand knives. Finally, there was silence. Zevran patted my shoulder, acting as if he had done me a big favor by enlightening me. Then, trudging after my companions, I was left alone with my inner monologue. There I came face to face with myself and I didn't at all like what I was confronted with.

And no booze anywhere to drown those merciless thoughts, that self-awareness.

Doom!

DOOM!

Suddenly, a small hand slipped into mine and squeezed it comfortingly. I didn't dare look at Rori. I was afraid I would start bawling right away without being able to stop.

"What exactly did you hear?" I croaked.

"Just about everything," Rori admitted. She didn't let go of my hand. I cannot express how grateful I was for this small gesture. "He didn't exactly keep his voice down."

"I'm a terrible man," I whispered hoarsely.

"Terrible men usually don't feel bad about their terribleness," Rori said matter-of-factly. "They either find excuses to justify it, or they simply don't give a damn. I've met both types. You're neither of them."

She had a point. Still...

"Rori..." I began, strictly watching my feet as I couldn't pluck up the courage to look her in the eyes. I had to sort this whole mess out with her. I couldn't just wait and see how things would develop. With Suri, I had never discussed our relationship until it had been too late. I had seen it coming—okay, more like Eamon had spelled it out for me—but like a coward I had avoided the topic around Suri. I didn't want to make the same mistake again. Rori deserved better.

"Shush! I don't want to hear anything about what we should and what we shouldn't do just because someone—Maker forbid!—could feel offended," she exclaimed while I was still stammering foolishly, trying to force the right words—or at least some comprehendible words—forward. "You're the king. Nobody can force you to do what you do not want to. And I'm the black sheep; I can do whatever I want anyway." Her face wore an expression of utmost defiance.

My jaw dropped. "Wh-what!? Are you... are you saying...?" My voice faded to a hushed whisper. "I mean... are you hinting that you... and I... I mean, we can't marry. You know that, right? Are you saying I should carry on with whomever I want? You don't think that would be very unfair to my... wife as well as... you?" When I had to break up with Suri, I had shortly considered the option of asking her to be my mistress. The mere thought now made me blush bright red. Really, that's nothing you suggest to a woman! 'Hey! You're not marriage material but I'd still like to... err... lick lampposts with you on a regular basis!' No way! I had been raised to be a gentleman and such arrangements certainly weren't gentlemanly in the slightest. Rori, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Can't we, for once, just enjoy life without any worries about the future or about other people's opinions? About our duty and whatever other restrictions and limitations? I'm so sick of reality, Alistair. It keeps beating me down at every single turn." Rori sighed. "It will all come crashing down on us again soon. But for now, I'd like to ignore it altogether." Pause. "And you do not have a wife," she added sullenly, forcefully kicking a stone down the road, "Not yet." She wasn't as cool about this as she wanted me to believe.

"B-but... your reputation..."

"How much more defiled could it possibly get?" Rori snorted. "Everybody already thinks I'm a whore anyway."

"But... are you sure? I mean... after what has happened to you... I don't want to hurt you..." Or break her heart... Maker, I so didn't need history to repeat itself when I married. That scene between Suri and me when I broke things off was nothing I ever wanted to be forced to undergo again.

Rori smiled sadly, then tiptoed to give me a peck on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Just for you being you," she grinned. In the following silence her smile faded. "I don't know what is to come," she admitted in a small voice. "It's all so confusing. I hardly know which way is up and which is down. I'm so lost I'm grasping at straws. I don't know how much I can handle until I am confronted with the situation. I figure all I can do is say 'Bloody blast it!' and give it a try. I may change my mind. I may get hurt. I may cause harm... accidentally… but I cannot just sit idly by anymore and do nothing but cry and allow others to shove me around as they plan my life away." Her tone became downright insolent. "It's my life for fuck's sake! I need to take charge of it."

Thus said, she shoved me against the nearest wall, grabbed me by the front of my shirt, and kissed me with fierce passion.

Maker's Breath! Why exactly did I want to turn her offer down? Whatever the reason may have been, it went right out of the window when I tasted the sweet luxury of her kiss—a sensual pleasure, velvety, moist, and so damn hot it made my nerves tingle with desire.

When we parted, she was breathless and prettily flushed; I was swooning. "Well, the day's looking up already," I muttered under my breath, a slight smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

"That wasn't too bold, was it?" Rori asked timidly, her dark eyes wide and round.

"Not at all," I grinned foolishly, shifting around uneasily to hide my rather prominent arousal. "Go ahead, just woman-handle me whenever you like." Rori blushed a deeper shade of crimson. She was adorable in her timid embarrassment.

The prospect of invigorating ties with Rori was quite thrilling. Since Suri had jumped into Zevran's bed right after I had terminated our relationship, my own reluctance of inviting another woman into mine wavered immensely. Rori had quite turned my head. And she—unlike Surana—was my best friend. I had always felt a bit intimidated around Suri; with Rori, I felt like I could be just Alistair. Did I like Rori? A lot. I daresay I was even a bit smitten with her. Did I want her? Blast yes!

Shame on me—I had a rather childish and stupid 'That's what you get!' feeling thinking about my lost love. That very moment, I just couldn't help it.

"You're right," I accepted Rori's indecent proposal with a 'might as well' attitude. Suddenly, a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had been so busy satisfying everyone else's expectations in between my grieving stupor that I had seldom dared to stage protests. "Damn them all anyhow! They made me king, so I will be king. And I will do exactly what I want to do..." I punched my fist in my palm. "The first thing I will do when we are back at the palace is throw all those bachelorettes out. Vultures in disguise, that's what they are!" I got really excited about the power I hadn't before now realized I had. "And then I will pardon you, and Eamon can't do a damn thing about it! Ha!" I was very pleased with myself. "After all that, I will found the National Cheese Association and introduce a Cheese Holiday..."

"Maker forgive me!" Rori laughed. "I've created a monster!"

Having overheard our conversation, Slim wasn't nearly as delighted as I. "Merciful Andraste! My mum will smite you with her ladle, king or no!" he hissed indignantly.

"Why? Doesn't she like cheese?" I asked.

"She certainly doesn't like cheesy characters," Slim growled, poking his finger at my chest.

"Err... what... you mean... Rori and I?" I stammered. "But your mum said I should take care of myself..."

"Did she tell you to live in sin?" the faithful Andrastian snapped. "I doubt it!"

"Boys!" Rori interjected in a tone that made both Slim and me duck our heads and shut up effectively. Her voice took on a softer note when she punched Slim's arm playfully. "I can decide for myself, Slim, thank you."

He grinned sheepishly. "Umm... yes... I only wanted... I..." The big lad became all flustered. "Y-yes, Lady Rori," he muttered, darting her a yearning look.

What the...!? Slim and... Rori!? Well, more like Slim and his wishful thinking as Rori was blithely oblivious.

The halfblood glowered at me menacingly and like his mum, sharply pointed two fingers at his eyes.

Right, I was under surveillance—and the Couldry family was not one to pick a quarrel with. I groaned inwardly. I didn't want to go down in history as the first king beaten to death by an old elven lady with a wooden ladle!

By now we had reached our destination—one of the old townhouses in a wealthy area of the city that had survived the darkspawn attack without much damage. Slim had equipped Rori and me with simple outfits of a solid quality and rather useful gugels to hide our faces. These new disguises allowed us to carry weapons without drawing too much attention—unthinkable for a halfblood or an alienage elf!

"I'd very much appreciate if you didn't kill anybody," Slim reminded us as we gathered in a narrow back alley. One of Slim's many cousins on the watch reported our suspect hadn't left the house before she disappeared in a nearby mansion where she worked as a kitchen girl.

"This man plotted the assassination of our royal friend," Zevran pointed out, balancing a dagger on his fingertip. He catapulted it into the air, catching it again with deadly grace. By the look Slim shot me, he didn't mind much anymore if anybody assassinated me. I very much hoped he kept his pacifism in mind.

"Whoa! Easy! We don't know that for sure. I would like to talk to him and hear what he has to say before I judge him, alright?" I muttered, distracted by Slim's sour expression.

"How much more evidence do you need?" Zevran laughed, fishing a poster out of a dustbin next to the backdoor of the seneschal's home. It was one of many. Every single one sported a picture of Anora looking stern and queenly. The slogan 'Make Furelden Great Again' stretched above her head.

"Someone's a bad speller," Rori observed with a laugh.

"Bad spelling is no crime—neither in Fur- nor in Fer-elden," I grinned involuntarily. Boy! If Anora could have seen this she would have thrown a fit. She was quite a perfectionist—and, for now, safely locked away at Fort Drakon. "I admit, though, this is rotten. The seneschal will have to answer a whole lot of unpleasant questions. There'll be a trial. Ferelden is a state under the rule of law, you see."

"Ah, but as king you are the law, my virtuous friend," Zevran sniggered, wagging the dagger at me.

"The law says bring him in alive," I growled, cutting my finger when I tried to snatch the dagger from the murderous elf.

"Careful! If I had smeared the blade with poison you'd be dead now," Zevran scolded me oh so very softly. "All this effort to keep you alive wasted within a heartbeat..." I shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold.

"Alistair's right," Rori agreed as she took my hand to examine the cut and wrap my finger with my handkerchief. She, of course, had none of her own. "If he's our man, he certainly didn't plot this all by himself. He could provide information about the instigators."

"Could it possibly be... Anora?" Zevran asked sarcastically.

"Not her style," Rori insisted. "She's more sophisticated."

"Oh, you haven't seen Anora when it's about staying in power," I muttered. "She's a ruthless bitch! She sold out her own father to keep her fancy crown." Too bad for her, Suri had been an equally unscrupulous liar. Anora's face when she had finally realized she had been outwitted by an elven mage... Priceless!

"Folks!" Slim Couldry tapped my shoulder. "I don't want to interrupt your certainly important and interesting discussion, but our suspect is skedaddling."

We all spun round right in time to see the seneschal sneaking out of his backdoor. Zevran hauled himself over the dustbin, blocked the seneschal's way and—drawing his dagger—shoved him backwards into the house. The man opened his mouth but no more than a gurgling sound and a gush of blood came out. Then he stumbled backwards, slipping off the blade that had run him through.

"Bloody blast it!" Rori exclaimed, quickly closing the door behind us.

My sentiments exactly.

"ZEVRAN!" I barked, both aghast and furious at the sight of the corpse on the floor of the narrow dark corridor. It smelled of dust and cabbage, now mingling with the metallic stench of blood. "What about 'Do NOT kill him!' was so hard to understand?!"

"I tripped over the threshold," the Antivan assassin sulked, wiping the blade on the seneschal's tunic. "There's no reason to be upset."

"No reason? NO REASON!?" I breathed, close to hyperventilating, as I gestured at the dead seneschal. I was very much tempted to strangle the elf. Slim Couldry leaned against the wall, muttering prayers under his breath. He was ashen and most unhappy about the situation. I couldn't blame him.

"That's the first and last time I work with you," the halfblood informed us. "Merciful Andraste! Mum was right about you, Zevran. You are a shady character. Maker! She'll hold this over my head for ages."

"It was an accident!" Zevran pouted. "The next time someone tries to murder you, Alistair, my ungrateful friend, don't come to me for help!"

"What was that?" Rori suddenly said, perking up her head. "Did you hear that? Is there someone else in the house...?" Zevran jumped into action and over the corpse before Rori's words had sunken into my mind. We looked at each other at the same time, aghast. Then Rori darted after Zevran as quick as lightning.

"Holy fucking shit!" her voice sounded from a room down the corridor. "DON'T...!"

"Collateral damage," Zevran answered dispassionately.

Slim cursed under his breath. "You wait here," I ordered, hurrying after Rori and the blasted assassin. The room was furnished as an office; a desk loaded with various papers stood close to the window. Zevran already wrapped the body of another man dressed like a servant into a carpet.

"He attacked me," Zevran defended himself when he caught sight of my expression.

"That's what people usually do when violent strangers break into their houses," I snapped. "Couldn't you disarm him?" This was a disaster. I hadn't intended to harm anybody. Now two men were dead and all I had to show for it was a dustbin filled with misspelled pro-Anora posters and Rori's description of the man who had hired her to assassinate me.

"This man wasn't a skilled warrior," Rori confirmed, frowning suspiciously at the Antivan elf. "You are. Why did you kill him?"

Zevran shrugged. "Alas, my adorable little imp, in the heat of the moment I overestimated the danger. I am sorry. Can you forgive me?" He clasped his hands over his heart in obviously feigned remorse.

Oh that blasted elf!

While I verbally stomped Zevran into the ground, Rori examined the desk. "Alistair," she called both excitedly and alarmed. The papers she had found lying around openly on the desk next to more Anora-advertisements were alternate versions of Loghain's propaganda posters used against the Grey Wardens and me during the Blight.

They called me a usurper and Orlesian puppet, argued I had murdered Cailan with the help of the Grey Wardens so I could claim the throne. The Blight had actually been an Orlesian invasion, the archdemon Empress Celene's pet dragon, my mother an Orlesian spy stealing poor Maric's sperm. Anora, of course, had been pregnant with Cailan's heir and I had murdered their child...

Charming.

"Ludicrous nonsense," Rori muttered, wavering between amusement and anger.

"Damn dangerous ludicrous nonsense," Zevran observed. "You, my dear royal friend, have a mighty big problem. Don't tell me you still object to me killing these bastards."

"Bastards we now can't interrogate, so thanks for that." I growled, rubbing my temples exhaustedly. My headache had returned full force.

Zevran shrugged. "Nobody is perfect."

"You should to talk to Anora," Rori suggested. She effectively collected the evidence and dropped it into a box she found under the table while Zevran stood around uselessly and sulked. I stood around uselessly and brooded. Slim stood around uselessly and wished he had never met us.

"Yeah," I agreed listlessly. "There's nothing I would rather do!"

Oh happy day!


	12. No More Mr Nice Guy

"Where is the king? We demand to know! There are rumors he is dead," Bann Esmerelle's shrill voice echoed through the vast throne hall. Of those who were in Denerim, many nobles had gathered to pester my chancellor with questions he couldn't answer. He put on his game face as he turned to the agitated crowd, but there wasn't much he could do to calm them down.

"In times like these, Ferelden needs a strong leader," Leonas Bryland insisted. "We have to decide what to do now..."

"King Alistair is not dead," Teagan snapped furiously, coming to stand side by side with his elder brother. "He's only been gone for a day. The chancellor is capable of directing the affairs of this nation until we know more about Alistair's whereabouts and fate."

"And how long do you intend to keep us waiting?" Franderel snorted, his jowls and double chin wobbled as he talked. He always reminded me of a huge vat of pudding come to life. "Your puppet king, that indecisive weakling you manipulated for your own advantage, is gone..."

WHAT!? Whoa!

"I've heard enough," I informed Rori through gritted teeth. The two of us were huddled in one of the side corridors that led into the throne hall. We had snuck back into the palace—unnoticed by anybody but Barkspawn and Furdinand—in time to witness the gathering of my dear fealty. Mental note to myself: I had to talk to my safety officer. But first, I had to regain control over my kingdom.

"Good evening, lords and ladies. Did you miss me?" My voice rung strong and clear through the vast throne hall when I barged in in all my royal glory.

My sudden entrance startled the gathered nobility out of their heated discussion. Heads turned, jaws dropped, the emotions ranging from shocked to gloating. Some openly showed their anger and disappointment; others wore relieved smiles. I strode right through their midst with all the kingliness I could muster. They hurriedly made way for me and bowed—more or less. Some seemed very reluctant, but as my glare bore into them, they hurried to correct their lack of etiquette.

"Yeah, damn right!" I silently muttered to myself. "I am some mighty king and they better not mess with me! I am the one in charge! The one with the power!"

Just a reminder. I tended to forget I had jumped ship and was now the one setting the course. I was on a trajectory toward crisis, the first—though certainly not the last—of my reign four months after my coronation. Ferelden's nobility saw a weak leader and was striving to get the advantage of their fellow nobles by pre-empting them. In the best case, they tried by manipulating their foolish monarch. In the worst case... I dropped the box with the evidence on the floor in front of my throne before taking a seat.

Taking refuge with me, Rori hurried to stand behind me, ducking in the shadows as if she still hoped she could make herself invisible after our dramatic entrance. Teagan reached out for her, stopping dead when Furdinand and I growled at him in unison. I'd really like to fool myself into believing it was my manliness and pugnacity, but I'm afraid the dog made the difference.

"As you all can see, I am here now, alive and still kicking," I declared, radiating kingliness—meaning I tried not to let show I was a clueless dork occupying an oversized chair. Seething with anger probably helped to cover me up. "Thank you for visiting. We hope you enjoyed your stay. Please pick up your daughters on your way out. Goodbye." I glowered at every single one of them until my face hurt from all the gloomy frowning. My glare dared them to object. Challenge me, it said, and I will... I will... err... well, I don't know what I will do... but it for sure won't be pleasant!

Stunned silence. They all gawked at me as if I had sprouted a second head, but no one moved. My scowl became quite forced, my poise wavered and I could feel that foolish grin tugging at the corners of my lips... Blast! Oh, come on! They were dismissed. I really didn't want to call security to throw them out!

Bryland was the first to recover his voice. "Your Majesty," he muttered still flabbergasted, bowed and marched off. Then the other nobles chickened-out quickly. It was the very first time I spoke up for myself in a language they could understand. I had to be rude to make them listen. Anora had once described me as kind, well-mannered, and biddable—an impression that deceived the nobles into thinking they could manipulate, ignore, and bash me as they pleased.

Well, eat that! Play time was over! No more Mr. Nice Guy! Starting now, I was going to return fire.

Utterly pleased with myself, I leaned back comfortably, crossing my arms behind my head.

"Alistair!" Eamon snapped, aghast, as soon as they were all gone. "You offended them!"

"I offended them!?" I laughed, so not amused. "Are you kidding me? For the last few hours I've investigated a conspiracy to murder me." I kicked the box so forcefully it upset and a flood of Anoras disgorged on the floor. "In the meantime, they've got nothing on their minds but how to take over my kingdom!"

"Anora?" Teagan asked, picking up one of the Furelden posters. "Do you believe she's behind this?"

"I doubt she could lead a rebellion without the support of the nobility," Rori dared to speak up.

"Such as you?" Teagan growled, causing her to shrink back into the shadows. She was terrified of getting dragged back to Fort Drakon. I had to do a whole lot of persuading to make her return to the palace with me. She would have rather remained hidden at Mrs. Couldry's place instead.

"Leave her be, Teagan," I ordered in a tone that didn't leave any room for discussion. "I pardon her for whatever she has or hasn't done."

Meanwhile Eamon examined the contents of the box, confiscated the Anora posters and coded correspondence. "This is serious," he muttered.

"You don't say!"

"Your Majesty, if Anora is behind this, you must take action," Eamon argued. "In case she is not involved, she still is too dangerous to be ignored. As long as she opposes you openly, her life is forfeit. Killing her, however, would make her a martyr. You have to convince her to swear fealty."

Yeah, Anora was a problem. When had Anora not been a problem? As far as I remembered she had been problematic from the start. Secretly I had begun to call her 'Annoyra' awhile ago, and she was really living up to that name. I so wasn't going to like what Eamon had to say. Maker preserve me! Anora couldn't have done me the favor of dying during the darkspawn siege, could she?

"Spit it out already," I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose tiredly. Maker, I was in desperate need of a drink!

"Anora wants to recover a position of power—she wants to be queen again," Eamon spelled out the obvious. "There is only one way you can keep your throne and she can become queen..."

"Are you saying I should marry her?" I croaked in mere disbelief. Right, it would steal the thunder of her cohorts. The last of the Theirin bloodline and the daughter of Ferelden's most famous general. It had worked before—a union for the kingdom's benefit. "Wow, be assassinated by political opponents or marry Anora. How does someone make this kind of choice?"

Blast it! I was king! Nobody could force me to do what I did not want to do. Still, I had a responsibility I could not ignore. There was a difference between entertaining a mistress and—with one's eyes open—heading straight for a disaster. My death would cause a vacuum of power and most likely a civil war. Anora and her minions were wrong when they believed everybody would happily accept her return.

Doom!

DOOM!

"Get Anora here first thing tomorrow," I ordered, not daring to look at Rori. Blast it! I had never lied to her about our possible relationship. Still, I felt like a complete jerk. "I have to talk to her."

Well, that was settled and yet it didn't let me be. My mind wasn't at ease but rather so occupied with my coming encounter with Annoyra that I didn't listen much to the admonitions Eamon had in store for me. When I finally escaped, I couldn't pluck up the courage to talk to Rori. While Eamon had lectured me about responsibility, she had sunk into the shadows like a ghost and silently disappeared. Shame on me; I was too exhausted, emotionally drained, and beaten down by what had happened within a single day, I just dragged myself into my room, slammed the door shut, locked it thoroughly, and hoped beyond hope that Arlington hadn't detected all of my hiding places.

I dug up two bottles of wine from a flower tub on the balcony. Ever since Barkspawn had buried a dead hare in there—found by my butler several days later—Arlington steered clear of the flower tubs. I wasn't above using this to my advantage. I shrugged out of my soil-stained shirt, settled in an armchair with my bare feet resting on the rail, and drank straight from the bottle, watching the velvet canopy of the night sky dotted with a myriad of stars, the moon round and yellow like a wheel of cheese. It was a mild night with a soft breeze blowing from the sea, a cool caress against my bare skin.

Anora... I couldn't even stand her! Once upon a time I admired her, but she wasn't the queen I thought her to be. After four months of struggling for survival in this shark-infested sea they call politics, my admiration for her was revived. That, however, didn't make me think fondly of her. Quite the contrary.

So, let's see...

Pro Anora—Smothering a rebellion, preventing a civil war, being able to drop unpleasant political decisions on the queen, making Ferelden great again.  
Contra Anora—She was a bitch! And I would be shackled with her for the rest of my life!

Just Alistair would have said thank you, but no thank you. King Alistair, however, couldn't decide without considering the greater good of the kingdom.

What would Suri have done? She hated Anora's guts and the sentiment was mutual. They had tricked and outwitted each other in a way that still left me aghast. Suri's plans had been quite clear:  
1\. Make Alistair king.  
2\. Save the world.  
3\. Make sure Alistair doesn't mess up the whole king business.

Just because I had broken up with her didn't mean she was going to abandon me. Suri had been thrilled by the possibilities of my power—and she had intended to use it. But death thwarted her plans. I was on my own.

And then there was Rori... She was an adorable young lady. I... I didn't know if I loved her… I liked her enough to kiss her, and if there had been a choice, I would have rather spent the rest of my life, in good times and in bad, with her. The Couslands were the most powerful family in Ferelden now that the Mac Tirs had lost their titles and lands. They could have made a difference in the political landscape. Rori would have been the perfect wife if not for Howe's perfidy. He had made sure she became a blemish on the Cousland name. I couldn't present her as my wife no more than I could have chosen Suri.

Maker preserve me!

The prospect of marrying a woman I thoroughly disliked while the one I loved dearly was dead and gone and the one I was smitten with was proscribed wasn't exactly putting me in a bright mood...

Nobody can force the king to do what the king doesn't want to do...

Well, fuck that!

Disquietude and agitation seized me, driving me out of my chair. In a fit of frustration, I tossed the empty bottle into the night. Why did life have to be so damn unfair? Sighing, I leaned on the railing, my face raised toward the black sky mocking me with its peaceful beauty, a stark contrast to the havoc inside of me. "I defy you, stars! Ay me! Oh Rori, Rori, wherefore art thou Rori?!"

"Well, who else should I be?"

Startled, I bent across the rail only to find Rori standing on the lawn. I flashed her a smile, my eyes lighting up with joy. She just had that effect on me. "Hey there," I heard myself say, my voice as smooth as a caress, a stupid grin plastered across my face. I even waved foolishly. Frowning, Rori waved back hesitantly. "Why don't you come up?"

She shuffled her feet uneasily. "Oh... you certainly have a whole lot of things to do... what with your plans to marry Anora and all..."

I heaved a very deep sigh. Women! I would never understand them. "I believe it could be necessary and inevitable for the sake of my kingdom. That's got nothing to do with what I want."

"Oh," was all Rori had to say. Her eyes were a deep blue sea of sadness. Then, all of a sudden, just when I opened my mouth to tell her I had never promised her anything, an expression of utmost defiance crossed her face. "Bloody blast it!" she muttered. Next, clinging to the climbing trellis actually reserved for the rambler roses with their bright red blossoms, she began her ascent. "Ouch! Blasted thorns!"

"You realize we do have these things called doors, right? People use them to move from one room to another," I chuckled in relief, reaching for her hand to pull her over the railing.

"Fergus locked mine and put a guard in front of it," Rori growled, hauling herself onto the balcony. "Ow! Blast it! There's a thorn stuck in my finger..."

"Let me see." I offered, gently but resolutely taking her hand in mine when she pulled away. She gave in, presenting the most adorable pout. She wasn't yet willing to fully forgive me. "There it is." I plucked the thorn from her finger. A droplet of blood like a crimson pearl beaded on her fingertip. Lifting her hand to my lips I sucked her finger into my mouth. Rori gasped in reply, watching me with wide round eyes. "Hmm..." I kissed her fingertips one by one, then turned her hand to press my lips at the inside of her wrist, my eyes never leaving hers.

"Alistair," she breathed when I flicked my tongue at her wrist, my breath hot against her smooth skin. I pulled her against my chest, my arm firmly wrapped around her waist. She tilted her head back to meet my lips and teasingly I nipped hers, smiling at her disappointed pout. It turned into an open-mouthed moan when I kissed the crook of her neck, moved my lips past her throat, across her jaw and, brushing her hair aside, toward her ear. Rori trembled in my arms, her body pressed against mine. She mewed softly, breathing my name over and over again.

Finally I kissed her and my whole being melted in the gentle warmth of her mouth. Passion engulfed us, an increasing stormy urgency that took hold of us until kisses were nowhere near enough anymore.

I swept Rori off her feet and right into my arms. Never breaking the kiss, I carried her toward my bed. Her nails dug into my flesh as I laid her down, her body tensed up. She was torn between desire and fear, her body's response to my caress conflicted the turmoil of emotions crashing down on her.

"Hush," I whispered soothingly. Intertwining my fingers with hers. "You do not have to do anything you do not want to do. No means no, okay?"

"Ser, yes, ser." She saluted. A timid attempt of bravery on her side, garnished with a shy smile. She inhaled deeply, her trembling hands sliding from my shoulders and across my chest, wavering between awe and fear as if she was stroking a beautiful but deadly predator ready to bite her head off.

This was a whole new experience for me, too. When Suri and I first had made love to each other, I had still been a... um... virgin. Suri had been my mentor, I her eager student. No matter how much time we spent together, I had never really graduated.

With Rori and me it was the other way round. She knew nothing but violence and pain. I had the power to give her pleasure and introduce her to the sensual beauty of lovemaking.

Merciful Andraste! Now I was as nervous as Rori.

We kissed, tenderly, gently. By sheer force of will I managed to keep my hands to myself while I allowed her to explore my body. Only when her touch became confident and the trembling of her hands subsided, I allowed myself to delve into the voluptuousness of her body. My hands crept underneath her blouse, roamed the flat of her belly before I found the courage to cup her breasts...

Lady's Breath!

Her heated flesh fit softly into my palms, my thumbs brushed across her hardening nipples... Oh, she moaned so beautifully, squirming with pleasure as she rubbed against me, pressing closer... I needed to feel her, flesh against flesh... alas, Rori was reluctant to take off her shirt, swatting at my hands when I began to unbutton it.

"No!" she gasped and I froze, a button caught between my fingertips. "Don't look at me... I... I am... ugly..."

I had felt the torus of her scars littering her body, contours hardly noticeable and hardened embossments, small cavities of thinner, wrinkly skin—every single one telling its own tale of her struggle for survival.

I cupped her face, placing a soft kiss on her lips but she was already retreating into her shell. To me, she was beautiful in all her imperfect glory. But whatever reassurance I could have offered she was unlikely to believe. Not when it sounded as if I was feeling pity for her. Pity didn't work well with Rori. It made her angry. So, I guess, it was time to take off the velvet gloves...

"So you are the Beast; can I be Beauty?" I asked, presenting a lopsided grin. Rori, just about to push me away, stopped dead and blinked at me flabbergasted. Next, her face was lit with an impish grin. The gloom in her eyes just poofed! and was replaced with a mischievous twinkle.

"Rawwwrrr," she purred—and bit my lower lip, drawing blood. I opened my mouth to protest but was silenced by a bold siege of my lips. When we parted, our breathing ragged, faces flushed, there was no piece of clothing left to get in the way but my pants.

Rori gave in to her carnal desire, driven by a powerful instinctive impulse. She didn't pause to think, bracing herself to blank out the hideous memories still haunting her. She pretty much knocked me flat on the mattress. We rolled around, limbs entangled, hands roaming each other's bodies. The cute mewing noises she made when I sucked her nipples into my mouth sent fiery shivers down my spine, a bolt going straight into my loins. Merciful Andraste! I wanted her so much, my nerves tingled, flooding me with a sensation of maddening desire.

Rori was hot and moist and ready, my fingers moving between her legs were slick with her juices. My manhood was throbbing, straining my pants. Maker! The need to feel her, to fill her was excruciating. Hurriedly I shrugged out of my pants...

The moment my length became visible to her, Rori froze, all color draining from her face.

"What? What's wrong?" I asked in alarm.

"Nothing..." she said too quickly, her voice trembling. "It's okay..." Something was absolutely not okay. One moment she was all over me, now she seemed downright scared. "It's... everything is fine." she breathed, recoiling when I reached out for her. "I... I just didn't think it would be so very... huge!"

What?!

We both stared down at my erection.

Awkward.

Whatever courage she had summoned it dissolved at the sight of my obviously rather intimidating length. The idiotic pang of male pride I felt about my grandness didn't make up for the disappointment that came with the throbbing of unsatisfied desire. I was quite in a sullen mood but one look at Rori, hugging the pillow to her chest to cover her nakedness, and my irritation dispersed. She was a picture of misery, caught in a flashback of the nightmare she had survived.

I didn't tell her there was no reason to feel sorry when she cried. I didn't assure her she would be fine. I didn't whisper sweet nonsense to her we both knew wasn't true.

Instead, I gave her my handkerchief to blow her snotty nose, safely wrapped her in my arms and told her all of Oghren's bad jokes until her sobs turned into giggles, adorned with the most adorable hiccup ever.


	13. Mistaken Identity

KoraKendalls: Aww, thank you! He's incredibly adorkable in chapter 12, isn't he? Yeah, I knw, preaising myself. But I just reread it and went AWWWWW several times... Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing. Enjoy the next chapter.

Thanks to all the readers, followers, reviewers. Enjoy reading. Reviews totally welcomed.

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"This is ridiculous!" Anora angrily slapped the propaganda posters on my desk, almost knocking over her silver and my golden goblet of wine. The prospect of being left sober while face to face with Annoyra had me rescue both goblets hurriedly. "Nobody will ever believe this pathetic lie created to discredit me!" I winced and leaned backward, goblets pressed to my chest, when she bent over the table to scowl at me, her eyes as cold as the Frostback Mountains. "You have sunken to a new low, Alistair," she snorted, regarding me with undisguised contempt. Charming. Just what I was looking for in a wife. "If you were even remotely worthy of being King Maric's son, you wouldn't have placed your own petty ambition..."

Seriously?

My only ambition was to get back into bed with Rori. Anora had only arrived five minutes ago and I already regretted meeting with her. Mental note to myself: Next time, send her a letter. 'Do you want to marry me? Yes/No/Perhaps. Check all that apply.'

"... before the needs of Ferleden! A man who cannot even spell the name of his kingdom..."

"Annoyra!" I exclaimed in exasperation, setting the goblets aside as I rose from my chair to take matters into my hands...

Narrowing her eyes, she spun round and snapped: "What did you just call me?"

I sat back down immediately. "A-Anora?" I squeaked, grinning stupidly.

"Are you making fun of me?" Anora hissed menacingly, towering over me as she stepped around the desk, only coming to a halt right next to my chair.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I stammered feebly.

"You!" Anora spat, pointing her finger at me. "Within the four months of your reign, the kingdom is on the verge of a civil war..."

I raised my hand. "May I point out that during your reign, the kingdom was in the middle of a civil war? I daresay being at the brink of one is quite an improvement..." Anora's glare bore into me like two icy blades. "On a second thought, maybe not that much of an improvement..."

"Your ineptitude to lead destroyed the capital of our beloved nation..." Anora went on mercilessly.

I opened my mouth to put the blame on the archdemon and its darkspawn hordes, but opted for a drink instead.

"Oh that's just like you—getting drunk when confronted with reality!" Anora shrieked when I reached for my goblet. She snatched it from me and placed it onto the mantlepiece. What the...!? Ugh! "You are going to listen to what I have to say!" she ordered. "You destroy everything Maric and my father..."

I rolled my eyes and all her preaching and lecturing fell on deaf ears. Years of practice tuning things out, you know. And there the Grand Cleric averred I had learned nothing at all at the monastery.

"Blah blah blah blah..." Anora ranted, striding through the room as if it belonged to her. Maker's Breath! Did I really want to marry that woman? Thanks to Suri and her ambitious decision to make me king, that was no longer a rhetorical question. I suppose I had to listen to Mrs. Couldry's advice and accept the things I couldn't change. I would have to make the best of it. I could move to a country residence with Rori while Anora reigned in Denerim... Now, that didn't sound so bad, did it?

Rori... Maker's Breath! I closed my eyes and in my mind moved back in time—a few hours only and yet it seemed a lifetime ago...

Rori had made my day. When I woke this morning with her in my arms I was at peace. More than that... I was... happy...

How did that happen?

Confession: I'm a cuddly sleeper. I just cannot sleep without cuddling. A pillow meets the minimum requirement. I used to have a miniature golem doll Eamon once bought me. I smuggled it into the monastery and for years it was my crumb of comfort. When Duncan recruited me, my doll travelled to Ostagar—and there I lost it. Then I reached advanced level cuddling—all Suri's fault. After breaking up with Suri I returned to pillow cuddling, climbed up the ladder to puppy cuddling with Barkspawn and finally, when I had almost given up hope for good, I was allowed to experience the ultimate dream of cuddly sleepers come true: spooning.

Smiling I nuzzled Rori's soft curly hair, inhaling the fresh scent of verbena, before I brushed it aside to kiss the nape of her neck. I was engulfed in her warmth, her scent, her softness, and for the first time in ages I felt... happiness. At first I didn't recognize it, this emotion that filled my chest, flooded my whole being; a feeling so utterly overwhelming it surged to break free. My heart jubilated, my smile turned into an ear to ear grin, and before I realized what was happening to me laughter bubbled forth, and I found myself giggling like a chantry novice...

"What in the name of the Maker is so funny? Are you actually listening?"

I opened my eyes and there she was... Annoyra in all her icy contempt. "No," I admitted in a suicidal impulse. "I'm not listening. And really, I do not care for what you have to say. I've not brought you here from Fort Drakon to listen to your complaints, but rather to talk business. You..." I sharply pointed my finger at her. "... are wasting my time." Maker! I so was in need of a drink! I took advantage of Anora's speechless indignation—she opened and closed her mouth like a stranded carp—and retrieved my goblet. "Someone has to take this ruling business seriously, you see."

"And just what is it you wish to discuss?" Anora pressed through gritted teeth just when I lifted the goblet to my lips. Sighing I put it down again.

Now or never, Alistair!

I inhaled deeply, wiping the sweat of my brow. Be brave! "Well, to cut to the quick of it—brevity is the soul of wit, right?—and as not to waste any more breath than has already been wasted today, I will come straight to the point without beating about the bush. That is, not to put too fine a point on it..."

"Oh spit it out already!" Anora barked unnervedly.

"Willyoumarryme?" I blurted out, squeezing my eyes shut, fists clenched at my sides.

"Pardon?"

"Will you..."

"Oh, I understood you quite well. I am wondering, though, why you believe I would stoop so low as to marry you?" the cool blonde asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Um... because you want to move out of Fort Drakon and into the palace? Because you want your crown back? Because you keep telling everybody and their dog you want the very best for Ferelden? Well, here's your chance!"

Oh that sly gleeful smile that crept onto her face. It sent a shiver like something cold and slimy down my spine. "I see," she accentuated. "You sound rather desperate. It seems you do need my help."

"Yeah, well, you know, with my ineptitude to lead..." I shrugged uneasily as she scrutinized me.

"It would be like marrying Cailan's twin," she remarked. I pulled a face. For her this was nothing more than cold calculation. She added the pros and subtracted the cons and came to a conclusion—I offered her a first class ticket out of prison and back into power. There was not the faintest hue of emotion neither in her voice nor her expression when she regarded her future husband. "I believe we should drink a toast to this agreement," Anora suggested.

My sentiments exactly. I doubted I could stand this any longer without the mind-numbing quality of, preferably, an entire bottle of alcohol.

I reached for my own kingly golden chalice, the one with the crown and mabari engraving, but Anora snatched it right from under my nose, leaving me no choice but to take the simpler silver one reserved for guests.

I got it, I got it!

Rule, Anora! Rule the realm! We would never ever form a team. From this day forth it was the Anora show. All I had to do was sit beside her and smile prettily. That, I was pretty sure I could handle.

Yeah, she clarified her position quite aggressively. Nothing else to be expected. Sighing, I accepted my fate, clinked goblets with her and gulped the wine down.

Anora only sipped hers, watching me across the rim of the golden chalice. She very much reminded me of the cat that had swallowed the pigeon.

"Yeah, well, so we're going to get married," I chuckled nervously, desperately scanning for the bottle to refill my goblet. Anora's response was a gurgling choked sound. The chalice fell from her hand, she retched, clutching her throat. And there I had thought she was totally cool about our engagement. "Haha! Very funny! I know I'm not your ideal fiancé but believe me, the feeling is mutual," I huffed. "You ruined the carpet. You are going to have to explain that to Arlington. Just so you know, I won't cover for you." Anora gagged, gasping for air. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, her face turned bright red. She was really spreading it on thick. "Oh, come on! That's enough!" Anora fell to her knees, her contorted mouth opened and a thick black tongue rolled out. Her blotched swollen face was taking on the color of blueberries... "Anora? Merciful Andraste! Anora! HELP! Someone please help her!" I knelt down with Anora in my arms. She spasmed violently and desperately tried to force air into her contorting lungs. Her frosty beauty destroyed, her face had turned into an ugly mask of pain and fear. With a death rattle she drew her last breath and went still in my arms.

My cries alarmed the guards, half a dozen of them broke down the door, barging in with their swords at ready. Then they stood there as helplessly and uselessly as me, staring at the dead woman in my arms. It all happened so fast my mind refused to accept her death long after she had passed away.

Maker have mercy! This was yet another nightmare.

Eamon arrived and took charge of the situation. I hardly noticed how Anora was taken away. I slumped in my chair, my face as white as a sheet, and in my shocked state of mind was hardly able to think straight. This much even I realized: This was a catastrophe.

Nobody would ever believe I wasn't responsible for Anora's death—not because it was so damn obvious, but because that was exactly what they wanted to believe. The truth didn't matter. The ominous rebellion had lost their figurehead, sure, but only a complete fool would have underestimated them now. They seemed quite the type for final solutions considering it had been my chalice. If Anora hadn't claimed it for herself, I would be in her place now.

Creepy.

I was just pondering about what it would have meant for Anora if I had been found poisoned with only her at my side when a ruckus outside startled me out of my thoughts.

"What in the name of the Maker...?"

"Stop her for fuck's sake!" I heard Teyrn Cousland shout. He cursed loudly, dogs barked angrily, a woman shrieked at the top of her voice...

Rori!

I rushed towards the door, knocking my chair over and running straight into Zevran.

"Alistair," he exclaimed with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"This is a palace. The natural habitat for kings," I informed him, already pushing past him. I really didn't have time for exchanging pleasantries. I ran down the corridor, following the noise and rounded the corner just in time to see Fergus Cousland and a dozen knights trying to catch a rather familiar young woman with a mess of curly red hair. Furdinand and Barkspawn, growled and bellowed, snapping at the knights' ankles and hindquarters. Rori was as lithe as a cat and just as hard to trap. She sidestepped her pursuers gracefully, dodged and tripped them, squirmed free of their grasps until the men were all run down. Finally, she fled onto the chandelier by using one of the knights as a stepladder. There she sat, dangling her feet, and did not intend to come down anytime soon.

I called off the dogs before they could tear the Teyrn of Highever to pieces. I was already short several nobles. The Blight had been the death of many, Vaughan Kendells had gotten himself killed in an uprising in the alienage three months ago, and now Anora...

What a blasted mess!

"I am having a little deja-vu," I chuckled, coming to stand next to a completely exhausted Fergus Cousland. I wasn't exactly in a good mood, what with Anora dead and yet another attempt on my life. But Rori in the chandelier—again—just made me smile. Next to me Fergus was far from delighted—neither by his sister nor by my appearance. My question was directed at his sister: "What is it this time?"

"He," Rori pointed accusingly at her brother, "wants to marry me away to Bann Loren!" She was in a mighty big huff, her voice trembling with indignation.

"You didn't mind marrying Howe," Fergus barked angrily.

"He forced me to marry him!" Rori cried out. She pulled one boot off and hauled it at Fergus.

"If you were a real Cousland," Fergus hissed, dodging the boot by inches, "you'd have chosen to die!" Her second boot hit him straight in the face.

Ha! Well aimed, Puck! Maker forgive me but he deserved it!

"Death would have been a welcome mercy compared to what he put me through!"

Clutching his bleeding nose, Fergus unsuccessfully searched his pockets for a handkerchief. Shaking my head, I offered mine. The lack of handkerchiefs seemed to run in the Cousland family. If Fergus needed any proof of Rori's Cousland…ness, there it was.

"It seems the lady doesn't want to marry," I meddled in the Couslands' affairs. Rori smiled down at me from her chandelier refuge. She wore rainbow colored striped socks, a bright spot of defiant optimism.

The teyrn scowled at me. "With all due respect, your Majesty, I doubt this is any of your business."

"With all due respect, my lord, I am capable of deciding myself what is and what isn't my business," I retorted with a sharpness that betrayed my pleasant smile. "Why do you intend to force her into a marriage she doesn't want?"

"Listen," Fergus said unnervedly, his tone that of an adult talking to a dim-witted child. "She has no title, she has no lands, she has no money. As long as I account and pay for her, she will do as she is told..."

"Keep dreaming," Rori snorted. She plucked a candle from the chandelier and dropped it on Fergus's head.

"...It's either the monastery or marriage for her," Fergus went on, gritting his teeth. He was fed up with his little sister. If only he had left her alone! He had some nerve telling me to mind my own business. "I will not allow her to drag the Cousland name through the mud anymore. She has caused enough harm."

Charming indeed! I had always dreamed of a huge loving family—but all I got was Goldana. And now here was Fergus Cousland regarding his younger sister as no more than a drain on his pocket.

"So if she took care of herself, she could decide what to do with her life?" I inquired.

"Indeed, your Majesty," Fergus confirmed. "However, I don't see how she could possible earn her living, if not by bringing more disgrace upon her family." His glare bore into me. 'I know what you do with my sister' it said. Puh. He was not half as intimidating as Mrs. Couldry.

"Maybe I can help..." I offered, ignoring Teyrn Cousland's pathetic attempt to intimidate me. Alright, I tried to ignore it—and failed miserably. My face took on the color of Mrs. Couldry's tomatoes and I shuffled my feet uneasily, kneaded my hands, and presented a wide grin that screamed 'Guilty as charged!'

"Your Majesty is too generous," Fergus remarked acidly. "But I am afraid my sister has to decline your offer."

"I believe she can speak for herself," I retorted icily. I didn't want to lose Rori. I had lost too much already. I wanted her to stay here with me and be my little rainbow bubble of happiness floating above reality. "Lady Rori," I addressed her. "I put you in charge of the Arling of Denerim. Do you accept your designation?"

"WHAT!?" Fergus squeaked same time Rori whispered: "For real?" Her eyes grew wide and round as she realized the possibilities that came with my offer.

"For real." I assured her.

"Bloody blast it! Yes, I do!" Rori cheered, dropping from the chandelier right into my arms. She hugged me tight, squealed and giggled, then danced me around in her joyous relief. She had every reason to be in exuberant spirits. I had given her her freedom.

"But... you cannot make her Arlessa of Denerim!" Fergus gasped in shock. I couldn't answer right away because Rori had chosen that very moment to kiss me—and I'm not talking about some innocent peck. I opened my mouth to remind her of the audience but she obviously didn't give a damn.

"Of course I can. I am king," I smirked quite breathlessly once Rori let go of me. Her arms wrapped around my waist, she beamed at me, her face prettily flushed, then stuck her tongue out at her brother. It felt good to hold her. Still, I wished she would resign from openly displaying her affection. It made me feel... Oh, I just felt those kinds of... activities... should be kept private...

"She has absolutely no experience in leading or ruling... anything!" Fergus breathed in exasperation. And there I thought he would at least show a little gratitude for solving his little-sister-hitch.

"Experience and leadership qualities are absolutely no requirement for ruling anything in this country," I laughed. I was the living example for this strategy. Actually, the whole nobility thing worked like that.

Fergus snorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Oh come on!" I wrapped my arm around Rori's shoulder. "She can't be worse than Vaughan Kendells." That prick.

"I am deeply touched by how much confidence you have in me," Rori deadpanned.

"But... I made a deal with Bann Loren!" Fergus cried out in exasperation.

"You two will make such a wonderful couple," Rori retorted icily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an Arling to rule." She turned on her heels and strode off with Furdinand in tow. She couldn't maintain her cool facade for long, though. Her stride became rather bouncy and before she even reached the end of the doors, she jubilated at the top of her voice, grinning from ear to ear.


	14. Trouble's Brewing

KoraKendalls: Haha, and who cares about what Eamon likes, right?

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Chapter 14 - Trouble's Brewing

Blasted curses of a thousand misfortunes!

After Anora's death, everybody ran around like headless chickens. Things were done for the sake of doing things but they didn't lead anywhere. Eamon shouted orders. Rori was under suspicion—again—and found innocent—again. I couldn't go anywhere without half a dozen guards in tow. Teagan intimidated and fired half of the kitchen staff, and Arlington—the embodiment of butler nonchalance—burst into tears when interrogated! The very same man who hadn't as much as quirked an eyebrow when he had found Rori in my bed this morning was now a complete mess.

"It is my fault, your Majesty," the butler bawled. He had a face like a sheep—long and thin, his teeth too big for his mouth—and he was obviously convinced he would be led to slaughter now. "I shouldn't have taken my eyes off your wine but I did!" Arlington had collected the goblets when all of a sudden, in a last desperate attempt to save their lives, some recently purchased and doomed chickens had escaped from their cage and run wild in the kitchen. With chaos and feathers everywhere, it was impossible to tell who had really taken advantage of the situation.

"Jailbreaker chickens…" Rori wondered out loud. "A coincidence? Hardly."

"There, there," I comforted my miserable butler. Then I patted his hand and convinced him not to resign. Awkward.

Then the day got even better when an Orlesian chevalier just strode in unannounced in donning shiny, twinkling armor as if he belonged here. My guards were nowhere to be seen when only a moment ago there had been half a dozen outside my door. "Where did they run off to?"

"Pardon?" My unwelcomed visitor asked in confusion the same time Rori snorted. "I bet they are chasing chickens. Something is awfully rotten here."

"Is it possible to find anybody competent here?" the knight asked in a thick Orlesian accent. He handed his helmet to me with an unperturbed casualness. I stared stupidly at it, wondering if it was meant to be a gift—until it dawned on me that he mistook me for a servant. The helmet was adorned with a mighty silver and blue panache formed like a griffon's head, the ventail bent like a beak. The visitor's hair fell onto his shoulders in soft golden waves. Blue eyes and a chiseled face of knightly handsomeness completed the picture.

„I'm sorry to report we've run out of competency," Rori deadpanned. „The subsequent delivery is late. I'm afraid, you'll have to deal with us." She offered a sweet smile. Zevran and I chuckled and chortled in her back. The knight just frowned. He reminded me of Sten. Ah, the good old days.

"And who would you be?" I groaned. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear he had climbed out of a heroic saga.

"Gerod Caron, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, reports for duty," he droned.

"Now that you mention it…" I muttered. Blast it! I had totally forgotten about that appointment. Or any other important stuff on my schedule for today. See, when an assassin tries to murder you —again—you don't just check your to-do list as if nothing happened. I sized my new Commander up and knew at once I was fucked. Language, I know. But seriously? Seriously!? Never has the saying 'When it rains it pours' been truer but today.

Doom!

DOOM!

The Maker had a very strange sense of humor.

Here I was, accused of being a usurper of the throne and an Orlesian puppet, and Weisshaupt sent me an Orlesian peacock to command the Grey Wardens of Ferelden—and rule the Arling of Amaranthine. Oh the nobility would be so thrilled about the new Arl! Eamon had warned me not to give the Grey Wardens too much power, not to involve them in politics. But did I listen? Nope! And now the fat was in the fire. Well done, Alistair!

"I am here for an audience with the king." Caron looked around the room, regarded the assembled people—Arlington, Rori, Zevran, and my humble self—and added: "I was told his Majesty could be found here?"

"Yeah, well, that would be me." I raised my hand, still holding the blasted helmet.

Caron blinked, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. Plain white shirt, sleeves rolled up, a dark blue waistcoat—good quality but simple—pants of the same color and making, and boots. Arlington called my style understated; I called it comfortable and practical. "Hahaha!" the peacock affected a laugh. "You Fereldans are so funny!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too, when they made me king," I deadpanned. "We are a jesting people." The smirk fell off Caron's face. He looked at Rori for help but she only pointed at me. His brow furrowed as the Orlesian cockalorum slowly put two and two together. By the look on his face he wasn't sure if we were fooling him, or if he was in for major trouble for disrespecting the Fereldan monarch. "This is... a very shiny armor, Warden Commander Caron," I went on before Caron could recover his voice.

"A present from Empress Celene," he said proudly, puffing himself up. "Forged by dwarven smiths, adorned with magical engravings and runes. And here, notice the griffon's eyes." He pointed at his chest plate. "Sapphires!"

Charming. The hungry peasants of Amaranthine would be in raptures about their newly minted Arl. Mental note to myself: Find a replacement as soon as possible. Preferably before Amaranthine engineered a revolt. Just where does one find a commander when it was already so hard to recruit, rank, and file Grey Wardens? Maker's Breath! Maybe I should reconsider Rori's willingness to become a Grey Warden.

As it was, I was short on Grey Wardens. I couldn't be picky, especially with that darkspawn hitch in addition to all the other problems I was supposed to solve.

"Alas," I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. "The darkspawn haven't returned to the Deep Roads after the archdemon was defeated. They run amok in Amaranthine—attack villages, abduct women… and we by now know that's no good at all..."

"Broodmothers, yes. We read the reports," Caron cut me short. "It seems a little far-fetched. Are there actually any real eye witnesses?" Zevran and I raised a hand. The horrors of the Blight had brought us together. They would haunt us forever and it didn't sit well with either of us to be suspected of lying. "Oh... well, the Grey Wardens will do whatever has to be done," Caron waved us off. What a jerk! "For now, I would appreciate if I could finally talk to the king..."

Finding Caron's replacement had just moved up on my to-do list.

"Arlington, I understand Commander Caron wishes to leave," I said frostily. With enviable effectiveness, the fully recovered butler ushered the man out. One moment he was there gawking; the next he was gone. Only then did I notice I was still holding his helmet. Too bad I didn't get rid of him for good. I would have to deal with him again—albeit grudgingly.

"Maker, why have you forsaken me?" I groaned, banging my head against my desk. Replacement... where to find a replacement? Maker's Breath! I took better care of the darkspawn myself... Oh! Wow! Now that was the best idea I've had in a long time...

Are you suffering burn-out? Visit Amaranthine! The perfect location for your next vacation! Spectacular cliff coasts, grand forests, and cozy little villages. The splendid city of Amaranthine and rampant darkspawn await you!

It sounded too good to be true.

I made my rounds again, spoke to servants, clerks, and guards. In short, I made my presence felt, as Eamon would say. He claimed it was utterly important to restore order to the palace. So I acted as if I wasn't troubled by the rather obvious fact that there was a twice unsuccessful murderer lurking somewhere close by. I failed miserably. Things had gotten quite out of control. The palace was so crammed with soldiers and guards they made Rori nervous. She kept spinning around, eyed the armed men suspiciously, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword every so often. "They are here to protect me," I said soothingly, taking her hands in mine.

"Are you sure?" Rori asked. For her, this had to feel like Highever-reloaded. She was damn serious; the tension she radiated infected me. I watched the men, searching for anything out of place and scolded myself for being paranoid.

"I would have them arrested if I were you, son," a rather familiar voice croaked in my back.

"Mrs. Couldry!" I exclaimed at the sight of the tiny elven lady. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to make sure you live to see tomorrow," Mrs. Couldry snorted. She waved her wooden ladle at a group of quite edgy guards in a huddle at the door.

"What's wrong with them?" I asked. Sure, they were nervous, but everybody was! Well, not Mrs. Couldry. She was as cold as a Mabari's snout.

"You don't think it odd that they all wear white ribbons around their left wrist?" Mrs. Couldry inquired. She sharply pointed two fingers at her eyes. "You have to watch out, son!"

"Err..." I hadn't even noticed, but she was right. And it wasn't only those at the door. Several other guards wore the very same ribbons to distinguish themselves from the unmarked men. I didn't have to be a genius to put two and two together. Anora, that bitch! After her self-righteous outrage I would have never suspected she was in any way involved in this rebellion. There weren't enough to overthrow me… unless the seemingly loyal guards would have jumped ship.

"The late Lady Anora would have never returned to Fort Drakon," Mrs. Couldry remarked as if she had read my thoughts. "It was an escape plan to unite her with the rebel forces. Anora was informed. The white ribbons would have helped her distinguish friend from foe."

"How do you know all that?" I inquired. "And how in the name of the Maker did you get into the palace?"

"I've got my eyes and ears everywhere, son," Mrs. Couldry chuckled. Yes, right. Elven servants. Their inferiority made them invisible to most nobles. In their arrogance they didn't realize that the elves formed a network that allowed them to exchange volatile information. "As for how I got here, your guards look at me and they see a servant—nobody to get excited about. Your security is too lax." She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You think this is all quite entertaining, don't you?" I pouted.

"Not for you, son," Mrs. Couldry chortled, pinching my cheek. "But don't worry, Mrs. Couldry watches over you."

"Your omnipresent eyes and ears… can they provide any information about the poisoner?"

"I'm working on it, son. I don't yet see the whole picture..."

"Don't you claim to see everything? Or does your age make you a little short-sighted?" I grinned—and regretted it instantly when the ladle came down on my head. "Ow!"

"Don't get fresh with me, young man!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Couldry." Sullenly I rubbed the back of my head. "So, I take it you cannot provide any useful information about the heads of the rebellion?"

"The Maker's mills grind slowly."

"And that's meant to make me feel better?" I huffed.

"Attention now!" Mrs. Couldry waved her ladle at me, then pointed it at the soldiers with the ribbons. "Here we have a group of armed men ready for forceful intervention. I wonder what they will do now their plan got thwarted... Ahh," Mrs. Couldry chuckled when the first knight pulled the ribbon off his wrist and dropped it before inching away from the group. "The rats desert the sinking ship."

Of course I couldn't let that happen. I would never find out who was involved in this if they all stripped off their signs of treachery. Oh happy day! The pleasures of being king! "The men with the white ribbons—arrest them!" I called out in my best kingly voice, drawing my sword. Rori followed suit while my dear faithful guards just stared at me in puzzlement. Not Team Anora, though. For them it was a matter of life and death now. One jumped forward, running a stunned guard through before the poor sod had a chance to figure what was happening. Maker preserve me! This was my fault! My hasty unmindful outcry, my mistaken command given without a warning now killed the men I was responsible for.

Startled, the guards turned against each other. The ribboneers were outnumbered, but they knew each other. Their identification of friend or foe was completed before the fight began. My men were lost in confusion when suddenly confronted with their former comrades.

And now the five-hundred-sovereign question: Who was the ribboneers main target?

Bingo! King Alistair Theirin.

The moment I stupidly opened my mouth, they rushed for me and I found myself surrounded by half a dozen bloodthirsty patriots.

Awesome!

I was driven backwards against a wall within a few seconds, defending myself desperately but succumbing to superior numbers. And then Rori was there, engaging a ribboneer taller by a head in a clash of metal. Next to her, another ribboneer turned to Zevran. When the elf tapped his shoulder, he hesitated at his sight and paid for his indecision with his life. Mrs. Couldry whacked a man over the head with her ladle, tripped him when he swung round to stab her, and swiftly slammed her ladle at his temple. With a surprised grunt he collapsed on the floor.

What the... !? The frail old lady act—I so didn't buy it anymore. I had traveled with Leliana for a year. I wasn't completely oblivious to the methods and skills of a certain group... bards... spies... whatever you want to call them.

Once the fight was over, Mrs. Couldry disappeared as suddenly and silently as she had shown up. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. „Just like Leliana!" I cursed under my breath. Well, quod erat demonstrandum. I was on alert now, though not any wiser. Mrs. Couldry left behind a whole lot of unanswered questions and a rather puzzled monarch. Mrs. Couldry and son had proven rather useful. Still... in my paranoid state of mine I was unsure whether I could trust the CIA—the Couldry Intelligence Agency. They could have very well played their games with me.

When I had awoken next to Rori this morning, I was sure nothing possibly could ruin my day. Boy, was I wrong!

Sergeant Kylon and his faithful men arrested the remainder of miserable Team Anora. Servants carried the guards away who hadn't survived my stupidity. The bile rising to my mouth when I looked at their dead faces tasted of guilt and shame. Maker have mercy! There was no way to make this right again. They were dead. And what for?

Leaning my back against the wall, I bit my lips and pressed my eyes shut. This was only the beginning. At the end of my days I would look back at the decisions I made as king and the death and destruction they had caused. I wished I had died instead of Suri. I wished she had never made me king. I even wished Anora was here now. With her hubris she wouldn't have wasted a second thought on a few dead knights.

I was trapped, cornered. There was no way out of this but desertion or death. I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders...

"You are not alone." A whisper in the dark and a small hand slipping into mine. I opened my eyes and found Rori smiling at me sadly. I didn't deserve her comfort, her reassurance, her support. I didn't deserve to live when those who had trusted in me lay dead at my feet. And it was my fault! "Stop beating yourself up, Alistair," Rori scolded me softly. Blast it! She knew me too well. I opened my mouth to point out to her I had every reason for some more castigation but she cut me short. "Help their families to make a living. The regular widow's pensions are a complete joke." I blinked stupidly. That I hadn't thought of. "Some mistakes cannot be undone. In that case, your best repentance is to mitigate the consequences."

"Blast it! You're right!"

"Every dog has its day."

"Ha! Indeed. Even this mangy mutt here..." I pointed at myself. "... hasn't messed up completely today. You'll make a great Arlessa."

"You're not mangy. You're cute..."

"ARGH! Say no more! I'll stick with mangy!"

I really would have loved to spend the rest of the day in bed with Rori. It would have been the easy way out. Drop it all on Eamon while I hide beneath my blanket. Unfortunately, I could have never ever endured looking at the man in the mirror again if I had hidden like a coward. I couldn't let that happen. How could I check if my hair was in place without a mirror?

The sun was already setting when I finally escaped my now watchful guards, including Sergeant Kylon himself—with a little help from Rori, bless her! The atmosphere in the palace was suffocating—dominated by suspicion, distrust, and paranoia. My templar training had helped me weather the situation by focusing solely on the matters at hand. During the Blight, my templar training had proven quite useful. Now it kept me going—for the moment. But at the end of the day, I needed to breathe freely to overcome the sensation of a looming breakdown. I inhaled the warm breeze of the summer evening enriched by the sweet scent of the blossoming linden trees. The tree tops were filled with the soft buzzing of a few late bees that had not yet returned to their hive for the night. Crickets chirred and clouds of midges danced above the water of the lake. The world was so peaceful without men.

Suri had a visitor. He knelt in the grass in front of her statue and replaced the faded flowers I had left there with fresh ones. Disappointed that I would be bereft of my solitude, I stayed in the background, but of course he had already detected me.

"Alas, Alistair, my royal friend, I didn't expect you here tonight," he cooed softly as he turned to meet my eyes. The faded flowers in his hands screamed silent accusations of neglect.

"I am a busy man..." I defended myself lamely.

"You have moved on," Zevran corrected me.

Guilt punched me right in the face like a jack-in-the-box. For days my thoughts had circled around Rori. I enjoyed being with her, holding her, kissing her. I felt at ease around her, lighter. All my troubles and worries weighed only half as much when she was with me. Suri had faded into the background. She still occupied a part of my heart, but remembering her no longer felt like the sharp pain of a hot knife stabbing my heart. It had attenuated to a dull ache now. Memories didn't throw me off course anymore. They made me pause for a moment in bittersweet remembrance. I had begun to look forward and hope for a better future, despite all the king business and constant threats on my life.

"She'll always have a place in my heart," I mumbled, the platitude sounding pathetic even to me.

"You don't have to explain anything, my friend," Zevran said, arranging the flowers he had brought while I stood there empty handed. "She's gone, you're here. You have to live your life. She would understand." He patted my shoulder as he passed by. Whenever the elf offered comfort and understanding, I was left feeling like a complete jerk afterwards. He just had a way of rubbing salt into the wound. I never knew if he did it on purpose or if it was just Zevran being… well, Zevran.

I had come here for... oh, I don't know... Whatever I had been looking for, it wasn't here. Not anymore. So I just stood there stupidly, feeling like a complete idiot, while the blasted midges feasted on me. That's how Rori found me. Wordlessly, she took my hand and we stood there together.

"I never wished to become king," I finally broke the silence. Maker's Breath, I couldn't have possibly sounded any more pathetic and whiny. "I'm no leader. I've always preferred to follow. Being responsible for the lives of so many; it's a burden."

"Howe's men followed orders." Rori whispered hoarsely. "They slaughtered innocent men and women. They murdered Oren, my nephew. He was five years old. They slayed his mother when she tried to protect her child. They watched as Howe raped me and when he beat my mother to death." Rori turned to face me, looking me straight in the eyes. "Do you believe they are less responsible for their actions because they followed orders?"

"I... I've never thought of it like that..." I stammered. Honestly, it had never even occurred to me. Maker! I was such a fool. Oh, the agony in her eyes! The hollowness of her voice! I could have slapped myself for—once again!—acting so damn inconsiderate.

"Then you were lucky with your leaders," she observed coolly.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, cupping her face. With my thumb, I gently wiped away her tears when they started falling. Blast it! Words weren't enough to express how sorry I was, so I spared her all the meaningless babbling. Instead I kissed her. For real. Right there at Suri's grave. Blast it! The elf was right. I had moved on.


	15. Coming Undone

Thank you so much for reviewing. It means a lot to me. To any writer. So whenever you read something you like, tell the author. Not just me, any author. You really make their days, you know. They get nothing but your appreciation for their effort of writing fan fiction.

So thanks for reading, and special thanks for reviewing. And... well, enjoy the next chapter. At least I hope you will. It is very... mature. Really. Smut-alert.

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Chapter 15 - Coming Undone

As I was already moving on I kept going—and moved Rori from the lakeside to a nearby pavilion when my sweet innocent kiss met Rori's tempestuous passion, sweeping both of us away in a whirlwind of rambunctious desire. Sweet Lady Andraste! Enraptured by her dulcet taste, I explored the hot moist cavern of Rori's mouth, kissed her deeply, longlingly, and the world around me faded, all worries ceased to exist for this one blissful moment, I floated in our own little rainbow bubble... and then, all of a sudden, it burst and I was thrown back into reality. It all started with a tingling at the back of my head, the unsettling feeling of someone watching me, of a glare boring into me ceaselessly. And then I looked up and found Suri's statue looming over us, her cold, lifeless eyes regarding me with silent accussation. Blast it! A pang of guilt stabbed me for having smooched another woman right there at her grave... What? Yes, I do know a statue is no more than a pretty piece of stone. It's just... it was inappropriate... and disrespectful, okay? And a little... morbid.

"Hey," Rori said softly, tiptoeing to nuzzle the tip of my nose. "What's wrong?" She nibbled at my lower lip with teasing tenderness, coaxing me to open my mouth for her.

"Um..." I laughed uneasily, "You, me, pretty lake, a myriad of midges—and my former lover's grave. Romantic, huh?"

Rori swatted at the midges swarming around her head. "And peeping Slim Couldry sitting over there in the bushes." she added nonchalantly.

"WHAT!?" I squeaked, spinning round to scan the shrubbery for the CIA. I wouldn't have been surprised to see Mrs. Couldry and her ladle sitting on a tree, dangling her legs and commanding an army of sneaky squirrels and nosy birds.

"Nah," Rori laughed, punching my chest playfully. "He left when you started kissing me."

"Oh, now that's something else entirely!" I exclaimed sullenly. "How can you be sure he's not somewhere out there..."

"Hush." Rori put her finger to my lips, she ran it down my chin, across my throat, put her palms flat on my chest and leaned in to brush her lips against the hollow of my throat, flicking her tongue against my adam's apple...

Wow! WOW! What exactly had I been worrying about? Privacy? Privacy was overrated anyway...

I picked her up before I completely lost the ability to think straight and we got carried away by our increasing excitement.

We lost most of our clothing on the way and discarded the bits we still wore when reaching our destination. Rori's hands were all over my body, and mine explored hers as we tumbled into the pavilion. A relic from the Orlesian usurpation, it sat on a cliff with a breathtaking view of the ocean, the forest, and the city in the distance. To Rori and me this beauty was wasted; we only had eyes for each other.

Maker's Breath, but she was beautiful! Her cheeks flushed, her rosebud lips slightly parted, she gasped my name when I kissed her neck, pressing my lips against her heated skin. Her eyes were blazing with feral intensity, yet there was fear lurking in the depths of her blue orbs—the ghosts of her past were not yet willing to set her free. They hadn't reckoned with Rori, though. Stubborn as a Storm Coast ram, she ignored my gentle approach to make her feel at ease and lunged herself at me. Obviously she had decided offense was her best defense. She had no intention of going slowly and allowing her treacherous mind to taint and twist her pleasure into yet another nightmare. We fell onto one of the luxurious Orlesian divans—now covered with Fereldan-style furs.

I trailed open-mouthed kisses across her body, worshipped the beauty of her breasts, the softness of her flesh, and the stark contrast of her nipples hardening against the velvet heat of my tongue. My caress elicited the most adorable mewing noises from her. She arched her back, leaning into my touch as my hands and lips traveled past her ribs to the flat of her belly. Her breathing was ragged as nervousness and fear were getting the edge on her despite her brave struggle, smoldering the glow of her arousal. Then I dipped my tongue into her navel and Rori burst into laughter.

"Ticklish?" I grinned.

"Noooo!" she hiccupped, tears of laughter like glittering gems welling from her eyes. Giggles bubbled from her mouth and whatever darkness had threatened to invade her, she laughed it away. She giggled when I twirled my tongue around her navel. And when I trailed little pecks down her belly. And when I lifted her legs onto my shoulders and ran my tongue across the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Then all of a sudden her giggling stopped. She gasped in surprise, her body tensed and the sweetest moan escaped her lips. "Wait!" She propped herself up on her elbows to watch me, her brow furrowed in utter confusion. "What are you doing... down there?" She was clearly talking too much. Oh well, you know what they say: Talk is cheap. "Just relax and enjoy," I grinned and then I shut her up. Rather effectively, if I do say so myself. "Merciful Andraste! Ohhhh... Alistair!" Famous last words. Afterwards Rori was quite speechless, though not silent. Nope, not at all. Maker's Breath, she sang to me a tune of blissful pleasure, each single sound coaxed out of her by the ministration of my rough tongue lapping at her slick folds.

Her fingers entangled with my hair, she pressed herself against my face. Her body stiffened, her back arched, she whimpered softly as she balanced on the very edge of her release, a moment of excruciating tension before she soared into her climax. "Maker! Alistair! Ohhh... Maker's Breath!" she gasped as her orgasm washed over her like tidal waves. She had never been more ravishing with her eyes glimmering in a hazy hue of midnight blue and her cheeks flushed pink. Her smile was bewitching, radiating a brilliant soulfulness.

Maker's Breath! I wanted her so much my whole being was blazing with desire. Rori's lips against mine, the softness of her body pressed against my firm frame, her fingertips whispering across my skin, her innocent shyness as she circled her small hands around my manhood... Andraste's flaming sword! She was driving me crazy! My head rolled from side to side, my eyes half closed as I watched her explore my anatomy. With undisguised awe she ran her fingers across the firmness of my muscles. She tasted my skin with her tongue, teased my flesh with gentle bites. Her boldness increased with the sound of my moans. My hoarsely whispered endearments, my outcries of pleasure emboldened her to discover and explore her own and my sexuality. It was the sweetest torture.

When she teasingly blew her cool breath against the sensitive tip of my manhood I bolted, poking her in the eye... Yep, clumsy me in action. It was so silly. Rori sat there, holding her eye, laughing while tears streamed down the side of her face. I held her, apologized like a thousand times and embarrassment was tearing me apart until her giggling infected me too and we both laughed so hard we fell off the divan together. I landed on some more fluffy furs, Rori landed on top of me.

"Maker! Puck, I'm so sorry!" I repeated for the umpteenth time. "I'm so terribly sor—" I didn't get to say any more because Rori rather effectively silenced me with a kiss. I moaned into her mouth, our tongues entwined in a fierce dance of lust and passion. Wrapping my arms around her I turned us around, coming to lie on top of her, my hard length rubbing against the moist heat of her center. Rori's eyes snapped open. She gasped, breaking the kiss as her body tensed.

"Rori," I whispered, my voice feral and husky. "Maker preserve me! I want you. I need you." I was so dizzy with desire I was trembling with unreleased tension. "I... I don't mean to rush you... Maker's Breath!" I pressed my face at the crook of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of verbena. For what seemed an eternity to me, Rori was very still. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. She was so full of apprehension; her body language spoke volumes about the torture she had endured.

Groaning in frustration I slowly lifted my weight off her. She wasn't yet ready and I was not about to push her... when all of a sudden she wrapped her legs around my waist and took my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. Her expression of utmost defiance could hardly hide how scared she was, her eyes were wide and round—the left one slightly puffed and reddish where I had poked her... How embarrassing! Maker! Why did such things always happen to me? I winced and grinned sheepishly, leaning in to gently kiss her eyelid, fluttering against my lips like a delicate butterfly.

When she opened her eyes again, the mists of fear had dissolved and made room for stubborn determination. She wouldn't succumb to dread. Whatever demons haunted her, she struggled to keep them at bay. This was tough for her. She was caught up in the turmoil of her own emotions, stubbornly trying to regain control. She had come so far but this was a critical moment for her. She inhaled deeply, steeled herself, locked eyes with me and went: "Ready when you are." Then she squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists at her sides, pressed her lips to a thin line and braced herself for the inevitable.

"This is meant to be fun, you know. You sound as if I was about to pull your teeth. One by one. With giant pliers." I laughed at her grim determination. "Relax." I nuzzled her nose.

"I am relaxed," she pressed through gritted teeth. She was as tense as a strung bow. Smiling I trailed little pecks across her jaw towards her ear.

"Very relaxed. I envy your calm. Any calmer and you'd be tranquil," I teased her, nibbling her earlobe.

"Now you're making fun of me!" Rori pouted, punching my shoulder with her small fist.

"Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought!" I chuckled, catching her hand to kiss her knuckles, then turning it around I pressed my lips to the inside of her wrist.

"Alistair?" Rori breathed, her voice trembling.

"Hm?" I sucked at her pulse, the soft skin of her wrist delicately smooth against my lips. The timidness of her tone made me pause.

"I... I want you, too... but... whenever I close my eyes the memories... they flood my mind and..." Swallowing hard, Rori turned her head away. Tears welled up in her eyes. I tenderly placed my hand under her chin and gently forced her to meet my eyes.

"Here's looking at you, Puck," I whispered. I tucked a red curl behind her ear, ran the back of my hand down the side of her face, pinched her nose teasingly, and when she finally smiled at me, that brilliant smile of hers, I kissed her deeply, and tenderly coaxed her to relax—for real this time. "Are you ready?" I murmured softly into her ear as I positioned myself between her legs. I needed her to understand she was the one in charge. I would never have done anything she didn't want me to do.

"Ready, steady, go!" Rori giggled nervously. Her eyes never left mine. She sought solace in me. I was her bastion of calm, her tower of strength. She clung to me when I slowly pushed into her, careful not to hurt her. A low whimper escaped her throat, she gasped at the sensation of my manhood filling her, straining her inner walls. Maker's Breath! She was so damn tight around me. Engulfed in her velvet heat, my manhood twitched and throbbed, my whole being was tingling with anticipation. Blast! The pressure in my loins was excruciating. Groaning I closed my eyes, burying my face in her hair. Rori tugged at my earlobe immediately. When I looked at her she sharply pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes, an apt imitation of Mrs. Couldry.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," I laughed, kissing the tip of her nose. I set on a tantalizingly slow rhythm—for Rori to get accustomed to this new sensation. She lay stock-still. By the look on her face she was wavering between "Urgh!" and "My oh my!," clearly wondering how she got roped into all this and how to get disentangled. Cute. Really. Alright, it hurt my manly feelings. All one of them. Blast it! I wouldn't draw in my horn... um... horns now! I had to make this perfect for her... if I fucked up now—Get it? Fucked up? Haha... okay, not funny...—she would be lost forever... Good luck, Alistair! Whenever had anything been perfect with you involved?

Blast it all! It was now or never!

My lips captured hers for a deep, long-lasting and quite mind-numbing kiss. I slipped one arm around her waist, half lifting her off the ground, coaxing her to buck her hips to meet my thrusts. "Oh!" Rori gasped, moaning loudly into my mouth as she skipped "My oh my!" and went straight for "Andraste's flaming sword!" Then she let go, slipped off the bonds of her fearsome nightmares and embraced the beauty of us together. Our worries and sorrow, our grief and sadness, it was all washed away when we became one, moving in the same accelerant rhythm, our voices combined in a lustful duet of passion. The world around us stopped existing, it was only Rori and Alistair in the crazy hazy hue of our lovemaking.

It was one of the most intense moments of my life—accentuated by the fact that I now knew what it was like to walk in darkness. Everything had been dyed in shades of grey, whatever I tasted it had been stale, whatever I heard had been dissonant. I had felt disembodied, lost and forlorn, surrounded by the musty smell of a cold and lonely grave, but now, now there was an explosion of light and color. I tasted the sweetness of Rori's kiss, I listened to the music of her moans, a symphony of pleasure. I inhaled the freshness of verbena and a hint of cool lemon mingled with Rori's scent, a perfume so beguiling it made me dizzy. Engulfed in the power of our bond, my whole body was vibrating with liveliness.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, we soared to the sky together in a mind-shattering climax, a whirlwind of blissful beatific delight...

I collapsed on top of Rori, shivers of pleasure running through her in the aftermath of her orgasm. A very wide, very content grin was plastered across her face. She looked like the cat that got the cream—a whole pool of sweet, velvety cream—and she purred. It was the cutest sound ever. She rubbed her cheek against mine, snuggled to me and kept on purring. Smiling, I kissed the tip of her nose. My fluttering heart suddenly seemed too big for my chest, warmth spread through me like a flood of happiness.

"That was... wow," Rori breathed once she recovered her voice. "WOW!"

"WOW!" I confirmed, grinning at her brimming over with joy.

The sea breeze cooled my heated skin when I wrapped Rori in my arms, holding her close, holding her tight. I didn't know where we would go from there—and I didn't care. All that mattered was the here and now. I was drifting on a cloud of felicity. The brushes with death, the chaos and tragedy—they were quite an eye-opener. I had to embrace what happiness I got or I would be doomed. Suri had always lived that way. She had never fretted about her fate but made the very best of it. She had shown me how it worked, had taught me to live in the moment instead of wallowing in the past and dreading the future. After her death I had given up myself; it took this beautiful ginger maiden to bring me back to life...

Or as Oghren would have said: "You know what would do you some good? Go out, find a girl. Doesn't matter who, as long as there's no pants involved."

The dwarf had always been a sucker for romance.

The memory of Suri added a bittersweet tinge. She would always be there of me. She had a hand in sculpting the man I was now, had given me confidence, had shown me love. She had turned my whole life upside down and made it better. And she would live on in my heart until it stopped beating. I waited for the pang of guilt that usually came with remembering Suri, but it never came. There was a dull ache, a vague feeling of emptiness and loss, but it was cast in shadows now that Rori's radiance shone on me.

Rori still hadn't fully recovered from the realization that sex could actually be beautiful. She shrugged out of my embrace and on her rather wobbly legs bounced around naked singing "Glory, glory, hallelujah!" at the top of her voice. She was adorable. And of course it was balm for my hurt manly feelings. I could have listened to her endlessly. But when she waved and shouted at a passing by ship, "I had sex and it was awesome!" I decided it was better to detour her exuberant energy and return straight to the steamy bits...

Oh glory, glory, hallelujah!


	16. Another One Bites The Dust

KoraKendalls: Geez, yes. Unfort they often are so rare. And it's so easy to make someone smile. Thanks for leaving this comment. Enjoy reading. :)

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Chapter 16 - Another One Bites The Dust

Oh it was all so... cozy. Peaceful, actually. Fluffy furs, a warm, soft, and very naked female body snuggled close to mine. The salty freshness of the sea mingled with the honey-sweetness of the linden trees. Early birds chirped in the trees, mingling with the buzzing of bees, accentuated by the distant thunder of the waves rolling against the shore. It was moments like this that had made my life livable during the Blight. Suri had been a source of happiness and strength for me. I used to enjoy the early hours when the sun was rising, golden light flooding our tent and I could watch Suri in all her ebony beauty, still fast asleep. Even in her sleep, when she was relaxed and at peace, she wore a constant and incredibly cute pout. She just hated camping and never really got used to it. I loved it simply because I could fuss over her, massage her shoulders or feet—after some rather awkward lessons with Zevran to learn the exact techniques—and give to her in return for all that she was giving me. I smiled sadly at the memory, a sadness that didn't tear me apart anymore, but filled my very being with bittersweet melancholy.

Suri had worshipped life as long as it had lasted. She had always tried to make the best of it and live it to the fullest. And she would have expected nothing less of me. Actually, I'd have driven her crazy with my mourning and whining. It was one thing she clearly disliked about me. Well, that and the filthy smelly socks, of course...

Ahhh, the good old days!

Chuckling, I nuzzled Rori's neck when she stirred in her sleep, softly mumbling to herself. I trailed little kisses across the crook of her neck and shoulder, adorned with the cutest freckles. How could I have possibly resisted the challenge of kissing every single one? On her shoulders, nose, cheeks, hands, knees, toes... Humming an old children's song—Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes—I set to work.

Rori's delight only lasted until I took hold of her foot. "Whoa! Wait! What are you doing...?" she squeaked, wiggling her foot to free it from my grasp. She was so incredibly ticklish.

"I am worshiping the freckled goddess," I purred with a lopsided grin before I sucked her toe into my mouth. I held an iron grip on her ankle when she bolted, my fingers moving across the sole of her foot with skilled ease. Feet have erogenous zones... Oh, you know that, don't you? Well, I didn't. Not until I met Surana. And Rori was as blissfully oblivious as I had been until that very moment when Surana pressed her fingers right there...

"Alistair! Stop that! Now! Don't you dare... OHHHH MAKER!" Rori's shrieking turned into a loud, lustful moan.

Haha! Gotcha! I smirked triumphantly. Maker, this was so... exciting... thrilling... It was... WHOA! Really, this was a whole new experience. With Suri I had been the student—a stammering, bashful, blushing nerd with a terrible fear of failure. And believe me when I say, I failed. Constantly. If embarrassment could kill, I'd have died a thousand times. It was only due to Suri's perseverance that she had the patience to teach me like she did. Before Suri, I had been a boy. Now, I was a man. A rugged, manly man.

Coaxing Rori to lie prone, I kissed her calves, took special care of the sensitive area of the hollow of her knees, moved my lips across the inside of her thighs and then dove my tongue into her moist velvet heat. Oh how she moaned! It got even better when I pushed her closer and closer to the edge and she gasped my name over and over again like an incantation.

"Damn right," I chuckled, my lips moving against the slick sweetness of her folds. "I'm going to work magic on you." I flicked the tip of my tongue against her clit teasingly and that did the trick—she came right into my face. I didn't give her any time to recover before I mounted her from behind while her body was still trembling from the aftermath of her orgasm. Maker's Breath! She was so damn wet. Her inner walls clenched around me so tightly, I had to still myself—and her, my hands resting on her hips—for a moment to regain control or I wouldn't have lasted long.

"So I guess that's your magic wand?" Rori giggled, wiggling her cute little ass to shake off the hold I had on her. She clapped her hands over her mouth as soon as the words had left it, blushing prettily at her own bluntness. Her large blue eyes reflected both her mischievous desire and her bashfulness. She was so eager and yet timid, she reminded me of myself, so clueless and scared to mess up majorly.

"Maker... that was... awkward..." Rori laughed nervously, casting her eyes down. I so could relate. I had once called Suri 'my little chocolate muffin' when she ordered me to talk dirty... She was really huffed and took upon herself to enhance my vocabulary afterwards. I now know a whole lot of rather obscene words that would cause Mrs. Couldry to hit me so hard her ladle would be nothing more than splinters. Um... err... eww... The thought of Mrs. Couldry wasn't exactly a turn on... Let's just say none of these words were suitable for Rori. My guess was she had heard most of them, albeit in a far less than pleasant context. So I opted for silence as I ran my hand down her spine in a gentle caress and smoothly slid my hard length out and back in ever so slowly. Silence is golden, you see. Only Rori disagreed.

"Say something," she mewed.

"…Say something?" I muttered, my eyes half closed, my mind blissfully numbed by the tingling sensation that spread from my loins as I rocked my hips against her, driving myself deeper into her with every thrust.

"I love your voice," Rori explained breathlessly. "It's deep and strong and gentle. I love the soft rumbling when you say my name... It's such a sexy, manly voice..." She looked over her shoulder, her dark eyes shaded by her lust, her voice trembling with desire and yet she was surrounded by an air of innocence.

"Sexy and manly, huh?" I grinned. "Your desire is my command."

"Mmmm," Rori purred, swaying her hips to meet my rhythm.

"Maker, that feels incredible," I gasped. "You're my sexy little... err..." My little what? It had turned Suri on when I called her my bitch. I never understood why. For all my life I had been taught to treat women with respect and then my first love came along and had me call her a whore. I could barely say it out loud. It always left a foul taste in my mouth. Suri, she was such a wonderful person and that was all I ever wanted to tell her. My little... I searched my mind for something hot and sweet... something... something Rori-like... adorable innocent Rori with her shock of red curls, those cute freckles adorning her pale skin... Maker's Breath! She was so very... tasty... And then I blurted out the very first thing that came to my mind: "... my sexy little... strawberry cheesecake... with raisins..."

Blinking, Rori looked at me over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. And then she burst into laughter. Oh blast! I just should have stuck to telling her how beautiful she was! But nooo! I couldn't leave well enough alone. And now I was blushing, stammering, and grinning foolishly. Again. Welcome back to reality, Alistair!

"Strawberry cheesecake?!" Rori laughed so hard, it shook her whole body. Maker's Breath! She was adorable. Her titter swept my embarrassment away and had me join in. Silly little brat. "With raisins? Really? You flatter me, my cute snuggle-bear!"

"Cute!? Snuggle-bear!? Whoa! Careful who you mess with! I will wreak dire revenge on you!"

"I'm always up for a challenge."

"You're so very tasty, my sweet sugar bun." I leaned forward to teasingly bite her shoulder. That got me and her into a whole new angle. "Maker's Breath!" I groaned same time Rori breathed, "Sweet Lady Andraste!"

"You like that, babykins?" I purred into her ear, gently nibbling her earlobe. One arm wrapped around her waist I pulled her against me, lifting her off the ground into a kneeling position.

"Like it? I love it, my darling cutie-pie!" Rori hiccupped in between her gigglefit and her lustful moans. I had to keep my hold on her or she would have collapsed onto the furs again.

"Honey-bunny," I growled, my voice a deep rumble, trembling from the effort to bite back a laugh.

"Munchkin," Rori moaned as my rhythm picked up pace, long, hard thrusts all in and out again, my hips bucking against the softness of her buttocks. All the time I couldn't stop laughing. Every time I managed to suppress the urge, Rori's "Hehehe!" would infect me again.

"You're such a snickerpuss," I scolded her breathlessly.

"You're one to talk, Ser-Laughs-a-Lot!"

We chuckled and chortled, giggled and snickered. I'd never had so much fun in bed before. I mean, sex with Suri had been fantastic—but rather earnest. Sometimes even a bit... scary. Where she led, I would follow. She taught me everything I know, but she didn't accept any fooling around during her lessons. Every so often I would destroy her mood by doing something stupid. I never was completely relaxed around her. With Rori, I could goof around without getting lectured about how immature I behaved. She was someone I could play with. She neither had Suri's grace nor her exotic beauty. She didn't possess any of Suri's sexual artfulness or skill. But the way she made me laugh, how she accepted me in all my foolish glory, her bubbling laughter, her bright smile, her exuberant passion and timid innocence—these were charms I couldn't resist.

I loved the little games we played, the teasing, the jokes. It was like a vacation from reality—a floating trip in our own little rainbow bubble, only she and I together, making mad love to each other.

"Maker! You're so damn tight, my sexy little snickerdoodle," I moaned, my voice deep and husky as I felt her inner walls clench around my manhood. "Maker's Breath!" She was so damn close. I was so damn close...

"Oh yeah!" Rori cried. "Make me come, poopsy-woopsy!"

"What!?" I laughed and came so hard I collapsed on that giggling mess of a girl. "Poopsy-woopsy!?" I pinched her buttocks for that one. Maker, I so enjoyed horsing around with her. She just gingered up my life. Like, literally. Ginger, red hair, get it? Haha. Um. Anyway... "You're a bad girl, shnoodle-bum, you know that, right?"

Her body tense, Rori's impish grin fell off her face, replaced by a wary timidness. "And... you're going to... punish me?" she whispered hoarsely.

"What!? No! No!" Blast it! I quickly lifted myself of her and wrapped her into my arms to nuzzle her nose and shower her face with soft kisses until she relaxed and snuggled against my chest. "Hey, Puck…" I began gently, "I would never hurt you. You know that, right?"

Rori smiled softly, kissing my lips. Then her smile broadened into an impish grin, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "You're a good man... cuddly-wuddly..."

"Okay, that's it. You asked for it!" I growled before I started tickling her mercilessly. She squirmed and squeaked, kicked and bucked but there was no escape. Beware the wrath of the ticklespawn!

"Alistair! No!" Rori giggled breathlessly.

"Mwahahaha!"

"ALISTAIR! STOP!" Rori shrieked at the top of her voice right into my ear. Groaning I let go of her and clapped my hands over my ears. "Did you hear that?"

"I'm pretty sure all of Thedas heard that." I complained sullenly, rubbing my ringing ears.

"Someone screamed..." Alarmed, Rori sat up, cocking her head to one side as she strained her ears.

"Was it perhaps you?" Pulling faces, I wiggled one finger in my ear, hoping beyond hope it would stop the ringing.

"No! Yes... I mean, someone else screamed." Now we both listened carefully, scanning our surroundings warily. I couldn't hear a thing now thanks to Rori, but still reached for my clothes—the ones actually in reach—and my sword. At least I didn't drop that on my way from the lake to the pavilion. In the distance my shirt swayed in the wind softly as it dangled from a branch. My pants were nowhere to be seen. "There," Rori whispered, pointing a direction somewhere across the meadow between the bushes. "It sounds... as if someone is in pain..."

Oh, just awesome!

I was already putting on my smallclothes and boots. One moment we had been fooling around, laughing, teasing each other. Moments like that never lasted. Not for me. Whatever was waiting for us out there, I wasn't going to like it. "You stay here," I ordered as I unsheathed my sword, swinging it a few times to warm up my muscles. The protest I expected never came. I turned around to find Rori gone, turned once more and just in time spotted her sneaking across the meadow before she vanished between the bushes. "What the...!? Argh! Women!" I have to admit, though, she looked pretty sexy in nothing more than her underwear and boots.

I scrambled after her through the high grass, making enough noise for two, and just caught up with her when she emerged onto a small clearing surrounded by hazel and elder bushes. Right in the middle a tall man with copper hair had collapsed on the blood-soaked ground. "Slim!" Rori gasped, dropping her daggers as she knelt down beside him to press her hands on the bleeding stab wounds littering his torso. Blood gushed between her fingers. "Alistair! Go and get help! Hurry!" She pulled Slim's head into her lap, cradling him. "Hush, don't speak," she murmured when Slim opened his mouth, uttering some gurgling sounds accompanied by a gush of blood. "Alistair will fetch help."

I stayed right where I was. "What if the attacker is still close by?" I protested, tightening the grip on my sword as I nervously scanned our surroundings. I wasn't going to leave Rori alone, no matter what she said. And by the look in her eyes, I was facing a verbal lashing. Well, fuck that! I really liked Slim but I would be fucking damned if I lost yet another woman I cared deeply for. Even the prospect of having to confess to Mrs. Couldry I let her son die didn't have me falter. Sure, I felt like a terrible, evil man. I was condemning one life to protect another. It was decisions like that I hated to make, decisions I used to drop on Surana only to complain afterwards when I didn't agree. Now Rori didn't agree and boy, was she about to complain!

"He is not," a familiar voice slurred behind me just when Rori lunged into raking me over the coals. Both Rori and I spun around to find Zevran standing right behind us. He was breathless and covered in blood, his hair was a mess. "He got away," the elf gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. "I saw him attack Slim. I was too far away. When I got there Slim was already on the ground and the murderer on the run." He knelt down next to Rori and Slim, taking the wounded man's hand in his. Couldry gurgled angrily and tried to get up, pulling his hand free. It was badly cut, the defensive wounds spreading from his hands across his lower arms. "Easy, my unfortunate friend," the elf said softly as he pushed Slim down again. "There's nothing you can do now. Just rest." Couldry's glare bore into the elf, his eyes shaded by pain, fear, and contempt. "Did he say anything?" Zevran inquired.

"He tried, but he's too weak," Rori replied, gently stroking Slim's sweaty hair from his brow. The elf nodded slowly.

"Too bad," he sighed. "Again the assassin has escaped without a trace. Again an innocent has lost his life on his Majesty's service."

"Oh yes, just rub it in, Zevran. I don't feel bad enough yet," I muttered under my breath. "And he's not dead!"

"Alistair, you and Rori get help," Zevran ordered, grabbing Slim's hands when he tried to reach out for Rori. His lips moved, his eyes searched hers, desperate to tell her something, to make her understand. "None of you should run around alone. We wouldn't want to lose our precious monarch. I'll stay with Slim. Hurry! He's running out of time."

We didn't need to be told twice. On leaving the clearing, I looked back over my shoulder. Slim pulled free from Zevran's grasp, his hand hit the ground and with his trembling fingers he scratched a letter into the blood-soaked dirt. Frowning, I turned to take one step back to decipher the message, but Rori grabbed my arm to drag me along. Right. No time to waste. Whatever Couldry had to tell us, he would do so himself when he recovered.

We ran as if the Archdemon itself was on our heels. Under my breath I cursed the spaciousness of the blasted park. We followed a narrow wooded trail, lined by thick undergrowth on both sides. It was perfect for an ambush but we didn't have time for caution, so we just rushed through and right into a group of armed men around the next turn.

"Sergeant Kylon!" I breathed at the sight of my palace guards. And—Maker bless them!—they had a mage with them. "Wounded man. There." I managed to wave my hand into the vague direction while gasping for air. Blast, I was out of shape! Too many months of heavy drinking and sitting around on my throne. "Hurry!"

"Are you injured, your Majesty? Lady Rori?" Kylon asked without as much as quirking an eyebrow. He and his men just acted as if it was completely normal to meet their king in nothing but his underwear and with an equally underdressed woman in tow, bashfully hiding behind his back. Ahh, the benefits of being king! Nobody points out to you when you behave like a complete idiot. Thankfully, I have a rather well developed sense of self-awareness when it comes to idiocy. And yes, I felt like a complete idiot. Without saying a word, Kylon just took off his cloak and handed it to me. Grinning foolishly, I wrapped it around Rori's shoulders. "We've been searching for you all night long," the Sergeant added with a hint of disapproval tinting his voice.

"Sorry," I muttered. I just couldn't get used to the fact that I—according to Eamon—was the most important man in Ferelden. "It was very inconsiderate of me to not inform you about my whereabouts." Sergeant Kylon stared at me as if I had sprouted a second head. "What?"

"It was my fault, your Majesty," Kylon said slowly. "I should have kept myself better informed."

"What? No! I mean... You don't have to take the blame for my misbehavior..." Really? Just because I was king didn't mean I had a carte blanche to act like a dick.

"Who cares?" Rori blurted out, still seeking cover behind my back. "Slim needs our help. Now!" Kylon opted for us returning to the palace and I agreed when it came to Rori, but she was sick and tired of waiting and, dragging the startled mage along, already darted down the path to where we had left Zevran and Slim.

Arriving at the clearing we found Zevran cradling Slim's lifeless form, pressing the taller man's head to his chest. "Alas, he's dead," the elf greeted us, his face as long as a fiddle. "My dear friend bravely set forth on his very last journey. Farewell, my brave friend, you will be missed." Zevran heaved a deep sigh as he gently laid Slim down, closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Blast! Again Zevran lost someone dear to him. I somehow had gotten the impression Couldry was more like a business partner, but now it seemed Zevran had truly cared for him. I felt so sad for the elf. And for Slim. And for poor Mrs. Couldry. I dreaded the moment when I had to tell her.

"Did he say anything?" Rori asked as she knelt down beside Slim again to hold his cold hand, stroking it gently. "Anything that could help us find his murderer?"

"Nothing," Zevran sniffled.

"He tried to scratch something into the dirt..." I exclaimed.

Pointing at some undecipherable lines in the earth, Zevran shook his head sadly. "It doesn't make any sense. I'm afraid he didn't have enough strength left to tell us whatever it was he wanted us to know."

"But you saw the murderer?" Rori asked hopefully. "You can describe him." And the elf could; well, if you want to call 'hooded figure of average build and height' a description. All we knew for sure was that some intruder was somewhere in the palace perimeter.

"It's not necessarily an intruder," Rori muttered to me when Kylon divided his men to search for the murderer and, guarding the king, transport the corpse back to the palace.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it could be someone you know, an insider. Someone close to you. Someone you trust," she said, her voice hollow. "Someone like Howe."

"And who might that be?" I wondered, running through my close advisors, acquaintances, and servants in my mind. None of them fit the bill. I just couldn't imagine any of them were capable of such crimes.

"My father never saw it coming," Rori whispered as if she had read my mind. "They were veterans of the rebellion. He thought that made them friends for life." Pause. "Slim made the same mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you seen his injuries? Whoever killed him got very close without Slim getting suspicious. It was someone he knew and trusted. Mark my words!"

"But... I cannot distrust everybody. How should I?"

"I know. All I'm saying is: Watch out and be careful. When there's something a little… odd, don't just let it pass." She paused, frowned, and slowly turned to Zevran. "Why are you covered in blood?"

"Whoa! Rori! Easy! Zevran is a..."

"What? Friend?" she snorted.

"It's alright, Alistair, my concerned friend," Zevran patted my arm when I opened my mouth to tell Rori off. "There has to be an investigation. These questions need to be asked."

"And answered," Rori insisted.

"I held a dying friend in my arms, my little suspicious imp." the elf retorted sourly.

"Your shirt was already stained when we first saw you today," Rori shot back.

"I tried to help Slim. When I saw there was nothing I could do, I followed the attacker," the elf huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"And what were you doing out here in the first place?" Rori inquired coolly.

"Rori! Please! We shouldn't start accusing each other!"

"Same as Slim," Zevran snorted, ignoring my attempt to keep the peace. "You know what he was doing here?" he went on. "Slim was out here to watch over Alistair and you, to make sure you both were safe. He disliked the nobility; he didn't trust them. But you were an exception—because he loved you."

"Wh-what!? But I... I didn't know..." Rori stammered, completely surprised by this revelation.

"Ahh, my poor lovesick friend." Zevran pressed his hands to his chest, then wiped a single tear from the corner of his eye. "He sat there in the bushes, looking out for the assassin, while you got laid by our handsome royal friend here. He couldn't have possibly overheard the noises of your... exertions."

"I... I didn't even know he was there…" Rori said meekly.

"Of course not," Zevran went on mercilessly. "You didn't waste a single thought on him; didn't once take his emotions into consideration because you hardly noticed he existed. Oh, the heartache he had to endure!"

I stepped in when Rori started to cry. "Stop that! It's hardly her fault!" What in the Fade was wrong with people? We shouldn't tear each other apart over this tragedy. We had to unite and stand together.

"You're right," Zevran admitted. "It is not her fault." He looked me directly in the eye, then turned on his heels and walked away. "Are you going to tell the grieving mother the truth, or shall I?" he called before vanishing between the bushes.

"I will," I growled unnervedly. Groaning, I rubbed my temples. I had a splitting headache. And I so needed a drink. "What a jerk!"

"He just lost his friend," Rori sniffled, wiping her nose at the hem of Kylon's cloak. He hurried to equip her with a handkerchief.

"Your accusations," I snapped, "certainly didn't help matters!" Sighing, I rubbed my face. "I'm sorry, Rori. I'm being unfair."

"I pushed him too hard," Rori apologized. "I... I just thought... it was all a bit odd... I didn't really think it through. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Right. We're all having a tough time." I felt like a complete jerk. Zevran was right, it was my fault. If I hadn't snuck away, if I hadn't been frolicking in the forest... I was responsible for his death. There was no denying it. Maker preserve me! How many more people had to die for my sake? I wasn't any better than any of them just because I happened to be king. I hadn't known him well, but Slim seemed like a good man. He had helped his people whenever he could, and although he had been a thief, he had possessed a heart as big and strong as a marbari's. He didn't deserve his fate. Maker, he didn't!

"Alistair?" Rori gently took my hand. "Are you alright?"

"Yes... no... I... I guess, I'd like to be alone..." Without waiting for her reply, I walked away, hardly noticing where I went. I just followed my own feet, a heavy weight pressing me down. With a heavy heart I returned to the palace to cause a mother great sorrow. There were no words to express how sorry I was. And nothing I could do to erase the injustice Mrs. Couldry and her son had suffered.

I found Mrs. Couldry far too quickly. She was sitting on my chair behind my desk in my office and looked so very small and frail I just had to hug her. Somehow, it all ended up feeling as if she hugged me. It was kinda awkward. I didn't even manage to comfort a grieving mother properly.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Couldry," was all I had to say, my voice choked by the effort of biting back my tears. Words were meaningless. They wouldn't bring Slim back. He and his mother didn't owe me anything and still they had helped me, had made it their mission to keep me safe.

"No maudlin, young man," Mrs. Couldry said matter-of-factly when I let go of her. I pretended not to notice how she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She needed that solid wall of composure to endure. That much even I understood. "We've got business to attend to." She occupied my chair again, beckoning me to take visitor's chair. I couldn't help smiling. She was such a bossy old lady. "I have to admit, I didn't see that coming," she sighed, thoughtfully tapping her ladle against my desk.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," I muttered.

"Don't waste my time with that nonsense, lad," Mrs. Couldry snorted. "It was the man who wielded the knife that took his life, not you. I don't want to hear anything further about this matter. Have I made myself clear?"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

"You need to get in with your sister," Mrs. Couldry informed me.

"Goldanna? What about her?"

"The nobility doubt you're really Maric's son."

"Surprise, surprise."

"They will soon officially start an investigation. You'd better buy her off before someone else does. Make sure she understands her fate is connected to yours and she will say anything to keep you in power."

"You really believe she would lie about me for her own advantage?" I exclaimed in disbelief. Mrs. Couldry just cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, stupid question. Forget I asked." This was Goldanna. She would have sold her own granny to Tevinter slave traders without a second thought.

"It's not the gold alone. She wants to be someone of importance," Mrs. Couldry pointed out. "Find her a position with a nice title and no real influence."

"So I butter up Goldanna. And what do you do?"

"I will find the murderer of my son," Mrs. Couldry said grimly, slapping her ladle against her palm. Whoa! I wouldn't want to be in the murderer's shoes. Mrs. Couldry meant business. "I can't yet see the whole picture, but I'm getting closer."

"Just don't get yourself killed."

The old elf just snorted. "Mind your own advice, son. Don't trust anyone."

She lifted herself off my chair and walked towards the door. There was determination in her but nothing much else. The way she held herself reminded me of Suri when we had finally confronted the Archdemon. I so wanted to hug her again but I was afraid I'd only have met the ladle.

"Not even you?" I asked tiredly.

Mrs. Couldry turned in the door, her expression grim, merciless. "Nothing and no one, son."


	17. Happy Family

KoraKendalls: My lips are sealed ;)

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Chapter 17 -Happy Family

"Five hundred sovereigns!?" I squeaked, staring at the bill in mere disbelief as I wavered in between shock and anger. "For shoes? And dresses? You have to be kidding me!" The whole freaking treasury didn't hold that much. Ferelden had some serious debt. Why else would Loghain have sold citizens into Tevinter slavery? By now I had my very own list of people I would have loved to sell. Unfortunately, chances were low that anybody would have paid as much as a single copper for them. Quite the contrary.

"I can't run around in rags. I'm a lady and I deserve to dress like a lady," Goldanna snapped angrily, arranging the skirt of her dress around her as she occupied my sofa. Two weeks ago she and her children had moved into the palace until I would have found them a house that met my dear sister's completely unreasonable demands. It was not an easy task due to the fact that most of Denerim was still in ruins. Nothing was good enough for her. Her opinion, not mine. But Mrs. Couldry had advised me to butter her up, so that's what I did. The treasury had its rather narrow limits, though. So did I.

"Alright, let me get this straight. You receive a monthly payment—a considerable sum—yet you expect me to clear your debts with the tailors and shoemakers because…?" I inquired in a remarkably calm tone as I accepted the cup of tea my butler served. His presence and a decent cup of black tea with milk certainly helped keeping my temper reigned in. "Thank you, Arlington."

"I've been looked down upon by the so-called 'high and mighty' for all my life. Now I'm in charge and I finally get what I deserve. You owe me! You killed mother, that's what you did," Goldanna shrieked.

I cringed inwardly. No matter how often I told myself it wasn't my fault, no matter how often first Suri, now Mrs. Couldry and Rori assured me I was not to be blamed, whenever my dear sister repeated her accusation, she put her finger into a festering wound. Without me, Goldanna's mother wouldn't have died and left her daughter alone. Goldanna's mother, not mine. For me, she was merely the woman who had given birth to me. Goldanna refused to share her memories with me. Instead she kept them all to herself and never ceased to make sure I understood my existence was a sin I had to suffer for.

Goldanna gave a sniff at the plate Arlington put on the table in front of her. "What? No scones? You think you can fob me off with some dry biscuits, you twit!? I want scones! Now! No tea! Wine!" She slapped the tea cup out of Arlington's hands when he presented it to her, the porcelain shattering on the ground, hot tea splashing over Arlington and Goldanna's incredibly ugly and insanely expensive dress. "Now look at what you have done, you stupid idiot!" she shrieked, whacking Arlington across the face with her fan.

What the...!?

I jumped from my chair, grabbing her around the wrist to stop her from slapping him again. Arlington, the personification of butler composure, hardly flinched. He only took a step backwards to get out of reach and even managed to balance the tray without spilling any tea or milk. I, however, lost my temper.

"That's enough!" I growled. I was raised to be a gentleman but—Maker forgive me!—that very moment I could hardly control myself. It took all the willpower I could muster not to slap her. "What is wrong with you? He didn't do anything to you. Nor did your maid and yet you threw your chamber pot at her this morning. Ever since you have moved in you terrorize the staff, especially the elves, in an utterly malicious manner."

"Are you daft?! Let me say it again: I'm the one in charge now!" Goldanna hissed, her face contorted with hatred and contempt as she tried to pull free from my grasp. "I give orders. I don't receive them. Not anymore. Finally I can get what I deserve. Finally I get noticed, finally I am of importance. The servants need to learn to respect me."

"Have you ever considered a more friendly approach?" I wondered. "Okay, stupid question. Forget I asked." Tiredly I rubbed my face. I couldn't allow her to mistreat the servants any longer. I should have put an end to this the first time she attacked an elven kitchen girl. Her hatred for elves knew no limit. For many elves were lesser beings—Maker, even I hadn't cared much about them before Suri came into my life—but Goldanna, she loathed them with all her heart and soul. I didn't understand until Mrs. Couldry explained it to me. And afterwards I still wasn't any wiser...

"Some humans—although they never would consciously admit it—sense they aren't the pride of the Maker's creations," Mrs. Couldry had said, making herself comfortable in the rocking chair on her porch while I crawled around on all fours and weeded her vegetable garden. That was right after Slim's funeral. I had felt so damn guilty I paid Mrs. Couldry a visit and asked her if I could do anything for her. Anything. After that offer I hardly could decline her request to weed her garden, right? "All that is left for them is to elevate themselves by exercising a pride based on something as profane as their race," Mrs. Couldry went on. "Don't you pull up my carrots, son. Weeds only!"

"I've hand-weeded the monastery garden for years!" I sulked. "When I hadn't been scrubbing pots, that is."

"Now that you mention it, there are some pots that desperately need cleaning," Mrs. Couldry remarked. What the...!? "You're such a charming young man, giving an old lady a hand. Or two," she cooed suffocating any protest I might have wanted to utter. "Now, where was I?" Thoughtfully she tapped her ladle against her chin. ""Ah, yes. It's nothing the humans have achieved, nothing they could ever fail to be, and thus the easiest way to suffocate the realization of being the losers of this society."

"Yeah, well, I feel like a complete loser all the time and still don't shove people around," I growled, pulling at an especially restive weed. "I will change things..."

"You won't," Mrs. Couldry cut me short.

"But... I am king!"

"You cannot declare the elves equal without provoking riots," Mrs. Couldry lectured me. She took a sip of tea, her ladle resting in her lap. "The nobility keeps themselves in power by stoking up the hatred against the elves. That way the poor do not turn against their oppressors but rather against those even poorer than they are. All their frustration and anger finds an outlet in a pogrom every now and then. It's vicious, but that way this society is kept in balance. You cannot break that cycle simply by giving the elves more rights without making the life of everybody better. What you need is a complete renovation."

"So there's nothing I can do?" I muttered in utter frustration.

"All in good time, son," Mrs. Couldry chuckled. "For now, there are some pots waiting to be scrubbed."

Sigh.

Anyway, back to the Goldanna-hitch. I still thought it to be a joke but, yeah, I was king and thus responsible for my... um... people. So I had to stop her. Somehow. I mean, she was what Mrs. Couldry called 'the globules of grease floating on the soup.' For most of her life she had been part of the 'human weed'—Mrs. Couldry's words, not mine—yet she now treated anyone 'beneath' her with malice. She was high and mighty now but she seemed to have forgotten where she came from. Or she was just a bitch in general. Whatever, she was one of my many problems—but this one, at least, I think I could resolve.

"I'm only going to say this once, Goldanna, so you'd better listen closely," I said with my best kingly voice. "Should you ever again misbehave toward the staff, I will cast you out from this castle."

Pulling her hand free, Goldanna just snorted, completely unimpressed by my intervention. "Do you think I'm stupid? You can't tell me anything. You need me. You will give me what I want or I will tell your noble friends that I don't know anything about the king being your father."

Oh, now she was trying to blackmail me? Charming. All my life I had wished for a family. Never has the saying 'Be careful what you wish for' rung more true.

"I don't think you are stupid," I said softly. It was time to take off the velvet gloves. "I know you are."

"What did you just say!?" Goldanna shrieked, her eyes narrowed to slits. I ducked my head when she threw the tea pot at me. Arlington caught it with utmost efficiency. "They offered me coin, they did. I tell everybody you aren't the king's son and you're doomed." she smirked nastily.

I smiled back at her. "When I was born, the high and mighty in Redcliffe paid you and sent you away. But your money didn't last long. So you returned for more and they ran you off. What makes you think it would be different this time?"

"They'll make me Bann of... something," Goldanna hissed defiantly.

My smile grew wider. I really didn't feel like smiling, more like vomiting. I so hated this kind of game but by now I had learned how to play it. Kinda. Most rules still eluded me, but Goldanna was far from a worthy opponent. "Take their money," I cooed, my voice deep and smooth. "Tell your lies to everybody who wants to listen. You're right, I would lose everything I have—but so would you. Once I was gone, you'd be of no use to them anymore. You'd go back to washing linens and kissing your customers' arses—that is, if they let you live at all."

Goldanna opened her mouth, closed it again, reopened it, and finally settled on pressing her lips to a thin line. She clenched her jaws so tightly I could hear her teeth crunch.

Gotcha!

Returning to the sofa, I took a sip of tea as if we had been talking about nothing more important than the weather, leaned back and crossed my legs as I regarded Goldanna with a soft smile. It was pretty hard to suppress the urge to yell at her, but really, it was worth the effort. "You will pay for your own debts and budget your monthly payment," I informed Goldanna matter-of-factly. "I will find a house for you and your family and you will gratefully accept my choice. Until then, you are my guest and thus will treat me and anybody in my service with respect. That also applies to the elven servants. That means first you will pay Mrs. Couldry a visit in the kitchen and apologize for insulting her dead son." Goldanna had thrown quite a fit about the matter of Slim's funeral. He died protecting Rori and me—of course I would pay him my last respects. Personally. And I would compensate Mrs. Couldry for her expenses. Only a complete dick would have left her alone on that matter. Unfortunately, I was surrounded by a crowd of complete dicks. You cannot imagine how many nobles and people chose to complain about my decisions. "Do I make myself clear?"

That look on her face. Priceless.

"You will regret this," Goldanna pressed through gritted teeth.

"You will regret this, your Majesty." Yeah, I know. I just couldn't resist, okay?

"Your Majesty." Goldanna sounded as if she was choking on the words.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I grinned. Goldanna grunted some incomprehensible reply. Oh, she was hopping mad. Two weeks and not a trace of the assassin. The way Goldanna glared at me, he soon would find himself unemployed. "Arlington will show you out," I dismissed her and off she stormed, knocking Rori off her feet and the sheets of paper, files, and letters she carried out of her hands when they collided in the doorway.

"Get out of my way, tart," Goldanna hissed and hurriedly added "Please" when I went "Tsktsk!" Maker, I was starting to really enjoy this. My first foray into sibling rivalry. Awesome!

"Whoa! What was that?" Rori asked, picking herself and the scattered papers up.

"I've started an empirical study on the reason for fratricide." I deadpanned as I knelt down beside her to give her a hand.

"Don't you have enough people wanting to kill you?"

"What can I say, I'm a danger seeker." I shrugged and offered a lopsided grin. I didn't really know on what terms we were after our last ... um... encounter. Ever since Slim's death, everything had happened so very fast. I hadn't seen Rori often during the last two weeks. She was busy with her Arling, I was busy staying alive, and when we happened to be together there were other people around. We didn't get any chance to sort our post-lamppost-licking relationship out. "Tax calculations?" I sighed, quickly scanning the files. And there I had hoped she had come here to see me. "You take this ruling-business quite seriously. I haven't gotten to see you much lately—despite you still living in the palace." The darkspawn had destroyed the Kendell's estate—much to Rori's delight. She couldn't have endured moving in after the horrors she had experienced there thanks to Howe. And unlike Vaughan, Rori wasn't keen on rebuilding it quickly. "Ugh... I didn't mean to sound that sullen," I apologized. "You're a great Arlessa."

"I try the best I can. Time will tell about my greatness," Rori sighed, sorting her papers before handing them to me.

"More paperwork! Be still my beating heart!"

"I have a few ideas about forming trade unions within Ferelden and with foreign traders," Rori said giddily. And then she just crossed her legs, getting comfortable on the floor, to explain her plans to me. Her knee touched mine, her fingers brushed against mine as she showed me her papers. I could smell the freshness of verbena on her, feel the warmth of her body when she leaned in. For days I hadn't been so close to her. I hardly managed to pay attention, distracted and awestruck by her spirit, her determination and cleverness and—alright, alright, I admit it!—her heaving bosom. Her excitement was infectious. I was convinced before she even began explaining her idea to me.

She used her family's trade connections with Orlais and Antiva—her brother and uncle had quickly forgotten about their grudge when they got wind of a deal that could earn them a whole lot of money—and her knowledge of seafaring combined with a clever business sense. The investments she suggested made sense—even to me—and would help with refilling the treasury and rebuilding the city and kingdom. "I have some meetings with merchants from Orlais and Antiva tomorrow... and I would like you to accompany me."

"Whoa! Rori, this is your baby," I encouraged her with a proud smile. "I don't know anything about that kind of business! You don't need me there. You're perfectly capable of handling that yourself." I handed the files back to her. Well, I tried. She wouldn't take them, though. Instead, Rori hemmed and hawed and beat around the bush until I told her to spit it out already.

"Well," she muttered, blushing a deeper shade of crimson. "People believe I only rule this Arling because..." Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "... I spread my legs for you..."

"That's not true!" I growled.

"Isn't it?" Rori asked, cocking her head to one side as she regarded me thoughtfully.

"Of course it isn't!" I snapped indignantly, my face as red as hers. "I... you are my..." Now it was my turn to hem and haw and stammer until I finally lamely settled on "... my friend."

"Right," she said and didn't sound too happy. She avoided looking at me as she went on matter-of-factly. "Well, some men... not all of them... but some think it's easy to get into my knickers. So they expect certain... accommodations..."

"They... what!? Those blasted bastards...!" My seething anger turned into shocked realization. "You... you don't believe I expect anything from you, do you?"

"I don't know what to believe, Alistair," she admitted meekly.

"So you've been avoiding me? You used your work as an excuse as not to see me?" I muttered.

"No!" She shut her mouth quickly, wringing her hands in exasperation. "Not intentionally. Did I really seem like I was avoiding you?" I must have looked really hurt. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I didn't mean to accuse you. This is all so overwhelming and new to me. I'm scared..."

I gently pressed my index finger to her lips to shush her. The mistress thing had been Rori's idea, but she was young and vulnerable and still hadn't fully recovered from the torment Howe had put her through. She was recovering but she had relapses—just like me. Every now and then I was overwhelmed by moments of extreme guilt that drove me back to Suri's grave. "I... Listen, I don't know for sure what I feel, but I cannot deny I have grown very fond of you. When we first met, I didn't believe I would feel anything ever again. But here you are and you make me... it's so overwhelming... I miss you when you're not around. You're my best friend... my only friend... and more... But one day I will have to marry and... I don't know if I could handle another heartache, but I don't have the strength to send you away. I do not want to send you away. I want you here with me..."

I didn't get to explain any further what I didn't understand myself. For Rori, it seemed enough. She put her index finger to my lips, just as I had done with her before. With a sad smile she whispered: "I know I can't expect a happily ever after. That's not meant for me. So I'll take the happy as long as it lasts." Thus said she just grabbed me by the front of my shirt and kissed me. Hesitantly at first, but once she makes up her mind Rori never does things halfheartedly. There was so much more in her kiss than raw lust. I tasted her tender sadness and her deep affection. Her desperate longing mingled with her shattered hopes, her shy trust and hurtful jealousy. It was all there in her kiss, a chaotic turmoil of emotions reflecting my own.

Rori was pretty, passionate, full of spirit, clever, vulnerable, and yet strong. She was blunt and shy and—oh Maker's Breath! She was here with me and her soft lips tasted of sage, fresh and cool and spicy. She was such a cute, sweet girl with a liking for tangy, rather masculine scents, reflecting her strength. There was more to this little imp that met the eye. And now here I was kissing her with growing passion, all these fuzzy warm feelings included. It was... scary and... amazing all at the same time.

Disaster or happiness, I didn't know where I was heading, but I wouldn't go on that journey alone. It very much felt like when Suri and I had first left the Korcari Wilds after Flemeth had rescued us, a mixture of uncertainty and hope.

"Ahh, the little imp attends upon the king," a voice next to us slurred. Jumping apart we found Zevran leaning against the doorframe. That sneaky bastard! "You think that's where the phrase 'happy as a king' comes from?" he wondered, bending down to pick up some of Rori's still scattered papers. Rori and I, our cheeks burning, quickly returned to collecting the rest of the sheets.

"It certainly doesn't originate from all the attempts on my life," I grumbled.

"Alas, yes, very unfortunate indeed that all five guards that were arrested the day of Anora's death were murdered in their cells at Fort Drakon," Zevran mused. He scanned the paper he had picked up before returning it to Rori. "A neat handwriting and a remarkably strong signature for such a little girl," he observed. "I would have bet you drew little hearts or flowers instead of the dot on the i. Ah, to err is human—and, seldom, elven." Turning to me he added merrily: "Your opponents are one step ahead no matter what you do."

"More like a mile ahead," Rori snorted. "We fish in muddy waters and all we ever get is the small guppies—never the big nasty sharks."

"Ah, now that you mention waters," the elf exclaimed, cheerfully rubbing his hands. "The man who murdered the guards was found today."

"Let me guess: he's dead as a doornail," I said sarcastically. "Did he possibly drown?"

"How did you know?" Zevran wondered.

"I have a sixth sense," I deadpanned. "Who was it?"

"The torturer. You remember him? Bald guy with a predilection for kinky toys? Children found him floating face down in the river this morning." Zevran helped himself to biscuits and tea. "There are traitors everywhere. How can you still sleep well, Alistair, my endangered friend?" he asked, mouth full.

"I can't," I admitted gloomily. I hadn't slept well ever since I had become a Grey Warden, but duty and pride had kept me going. Later I had endured for Suri and after her death, booze became my remedy. Now I couldn't even numb myself. I had to stay wary and my Grey Warden sense unfortunately only worked for darkspawn. It wasn't a general evil-o-meter.

"They'll stop at nothing," Rori pointed out the obvious.

"At least they haven't made an attempt on my life for the last two weeks," I sighed. "Mrs. Couldry suspects they wait for the outcome of the investigation about my heritage. They strive to get rid of me officially."

"The result is the same," Rori snorted. "You don't believe they would let you get away alive, do you?" She collected her papers. "Don't forget about tomorrow's business meetings. Someone has to take this ruling business seriously. As long as we can, we should try to do our best for this kingdom."

"What? You're leaving? But you've only just arrived! When will I see you again?" I pouted. The moment she had strolled in my day had begun to look a whole lot brighter. Rori was all I was looking forward to all day long. Well, Rori and Mrs. Couldry's incredible cheese sandwiches. The old lady now worked as my chief cook... I hadn't even hired her. She had just shown up the day Anora died and within ten minutes after her arrival she had assumed the supreme rule over the kitchen. A few hours later she held control over the whole staff. Now I had tomato vines in pots on my balcony and chicken running around in the palace gardens that Mrs. Couldry had occupied for her vegetables...

"Soon," Rori promised, giving me a little peck on the cheek.

"How soon is soon?" I whined, giving her my best abandoned puppy imitation. I missed her. Not just the lamppost-licking activities but all the other things we did when we were together.

Rori couldn't help but smile. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me for real. "Tonight. After dinner."

"Don't waste your time," Zevran called after her when she left. "Our royal friend still has to find himself a wife and you, I am told, are not anywhere on his list."

"What was that for?" I snapped angrily. Lately I quite easily lost my temper. Especially when it was about mine and Rori's... agreement. Everybody and their dog had an opinion, most of all Eamon and Isolde. All I wished for was to be left alone and allowed some privacy.

"What was what for?" Zevran asked with feigned innocence.

Oh that blasted elf!


	18. Spite and Malice

Thank you for the comments. You make my day, guys.

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Chapter 18 - Spite and Malice

Nervous? Who? Me? No, not at all! Just because I was pacing the room and hurried toward the door whenever I heard footsteps outside didn't mean I was nervous, right? Right?

Alright, who was I trying to fool? Rori was late and it drove me crazy. All day long I had been looking forward to spending the evening with her and, admittedly, the night. I also dreaded seeing her again. Too many things had been left unspoken since our first night together. I missed her. Maker, I did! The sensation of missing her was so strong it reached the quality of a medium heartache. I felt miserable without her and I couldn't decide whether to cut the bonds here and now or to embrace the happiness she offered by just being Rori. I mean, there still was the wife hitch, you know. So, excuse my indecisiveness. I so wanted to do what was right for the kingdom, for her, for me. But someone was to come away empty-handed, as there was this huge gap between the right thing to do and what I wanted to do. I could only take one route and—Maker forgive my cowardice—I hoped to pass the buck to Rori so it would be her own responsibility if all this ended with another set of broken hearts. Hers. Mine. Quite a mess. And yet I was drawn to her like a moth to the flame.

The table in my suite was set. Candles for the romantic atmosphere. A single rose in a slender long vase. A choice of various fine cheese I usually couldn't have resisted if not for my nervousness making me sick to my stomach, slices of cold meat, grapes, some bread, and by now, a half-empty bottle of red wine. I was in desperate need of some liquid courage, you see.

Time passed and I tried to convince myself Rori's absence was saving me from having to make a decision since this was her way to decide for her and me. Strangely, I felt no relief, but rather a sharp stabbing in my heart. Didn't I mean anything to her? Was this how she wanted to handle things? Just have me wait and figure out myself that she wasn't interested anymore? Some wallowing in self pity and some more wine later, I finally began to worry about her absence. I'm really not proud of how long it took me,but only when I had reached the bottom of the bottle did it occur to me that maybe she was in danger. Not that far-fetched with all the assassins running wild lately, huh? And all that time I had been solely thinking about myself, my hurt feelings, my wounded pride; I had not once wasted a single thought on her well-being. When it finally dawned on me, the realization hit me like a golem fist.

Doom!

DOOM!

What was I doing here, pacing the room and brooding? I had to search for Rori! What if she needed me? Maker preserve me! I hoped it wasn't already too late. Images of Suri's lifeless body next to the archdemon's corpse, of Anora's contorted face, of Slim Couldry lying in a puddle of his own blood popped up in my mind as I hurriedly put on my leather armor. Where should I start looking for her? She could be anywhere! I hadn't seen her at dinner so it was possible she hadn't yet returned to the palace. I couldn't search the whole city without help. Blast it! This was DEFCON white! I had to find her! I had to alert Sergeant Kylon! Combat column march! Now!

Whoa...

Breathe, Alistair! Keep cool. You cannot help Rori when you lose your mind. Breathe!

Plan. I needed a plan. Only my panicked mind kept reproducing images of death and destruction. I mustn't lose her. Not like Suri. The helplessness and hopelessness that had engulfed me ever since my beloved Warden had died came crashing down on me once more with corrosive force. I couldn't think with all that chaos in my mind. Frustrated, I threw myself onto my bed. Maker help me!

The moment I touched my pillow I felt something poking the back of my head. It was a cream white envelope with my name scribbled across the front in Rori's neat handwriting. With trembling fingers, I tore it open. The letters swam before my eyes. I had worked myself up so much over Rori's fate, the words I now read didn't make sense to me. I could hardly believe them and when they finally sunk in, I burst into hysterical laughter. Weeks of pressure and tension, of hardly suppressed paranoia and sleepless nights, had left me on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The letter read:

 _Hey Prince Charming! Surprise, surprise. Change of plans. Meet me at the hunting lodge. I'm dying to be with you. — Rori_

I felt like a complete idiot. All that time her letter had been waiting for me right there on my pillow. She wasn't late at all; turns out, I was the tardy one. Utterly relieved that she was alive and still kicking and in addition wanted to be with me, I took the direct route by climbing down the balcony to reach the park. I didn't want to waste any time discussing with my guards where I went and why and then be walked there like a toddler. So, my guards were safely guarding my bedroom door while I hurried through the dark park all alone.

As long as the light from the palace windows illuminated my way, I didn't waste much thought on my own stupidity. It only occured to me when I stumbled through the pitch black darkness beneath the trees that maybe running around here all alone without anybody knowing my whereabouts wasn't exactly the brightest idea I ever had. What can I say? I was young and rebellious... Alright, alright! Without glossing things over: I was foolish and horny. There, I said it. Are you happy now?

The hunting lodge was what Orlesians would call a little chateau close to the forest. Built by Meghren, it lacked any Fereldan charm but provided a whole lot of rather impractical features like a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and crystal chandeliers. There were exclusive tapestries and wallpaper decorated with gems. The doorknobs were made of pure gold and gold leaf adorned the furniture. At least, that's what Eamon said it had looked like before the Blight. Loghain, in desperate need for money to finance his civil war and the fight against the darkspawn, had removed anything worth removing. The hunting lodge was now a ruin, a skeleton of a house. Even the doors and windows were missing; instead, the holes were boarded up. Dark and silent, the lodge meassured up to all requirements of a haunted house. Minus the ghosts, of course.

Why did Rori want to meet me there? Really, I didn't care. She wanted to be with me and that was all that mattered to me. Foolish and horny, remember?

Pushing aside a loose board, I squeezed through the door and found myself standing in the entrance hall with a broad staircase leading to the upper floors. Candles lined each side of the staircase, one on every second step showed me the way. On a mezzanine halfway between the ground and the first floor, the lights followed the stairs leading to the left wing. Like will'o'wisps, the flames flickering unsteadily in the draft, the candles led me away from the entrance into the north wing of the building, past empty rooms and chambers. The air was humid and heavy. It smelled of dust, mold, mice, and something else I couldn't quite distinguish. The wooden floor that croaked with every step, the rustling of tiny feet in the corners and behind the walls and the whispering of the wind sweeping through the rooms and halls couldn't drown out the thundering of my heart—a drumming so loud in my ears I was convinced they could still hear it in Weishaupt.

"Rori?" I called down the corridor, my voice shrill with hardly suppressed fear. I drew my sword as memories of the alienage orphanage popped up in my mind. Suddenly it didn't seem that good an idea anymore to have come here all by myself. "Rori? I really respect your need for privacy, but don't you think you're taking it to an extreme... just a little bit?" I didn't receive an answer, but I kept on babbling just to ease my nerves. I even debated returning to the palace, but Rori had asked me to come here and I didn't want to disappoint her. Still, the sword was trembling in my hands; every sound, every movement caught from the corner of my eye made me jump. I cursed myself for being so damn chicken-hearted. Rori would laugh her ass off at me. Surely this was some kind of prank and I was making a major fool of myself.

The candles guided me into another empty room. Carefully, I peeped through the door and spotted a mattress and blankets on the floor and a bottle of wine next to it. Duh! I let out a heavy sigh of relief, sheathed my sword and walked in, still feeling a little shaky but already laughing about myself acting like a blasted scaredy-cat. Here she had arranged everything for our date while my paranoia had me tremble with fear. "Alistair, you're such a fool," I scolded myself. "Rori? I'm here now! I'm late, I know. I didn't find your note right away." No answer. I briefly wondered if she had left, tired of waiting for me. But she surely would have blown out the candles. She probably was... um... powdering her nose or something. I decided to wait and meanwhile get a little more comfortable. I reached for the bottle of wine when I felt a movement in my back. "Hey Puck, what are you up to?" I laughed—and then I laughed out of the other side of my face when I was grabbed from behind before I could turn to face whoever was there at my back.

"I really thought you would stand me up," a voice purred into my ear as cold, sharp metal pressed against my throat. "But here you are and now the party can begin."

The sound of that voice chilled me to the bone. I had never seen this coming and still, with the blade pressed against my throat, I refused to believe the black treachery. After all what we'd been through together, I just couldn't understand what had brought us to this quite unpleasant situation.

Breathe, Alistair! Keep cool! What in the Maker's name was I going to do? There aren't that many options left when you have a knife in close proximity to your carotid. Whoa... Think... Okay, I once saw Leliana snake out of a situation like this. She slowly kinda lifted her arm and to my eyes looked as though she were about to give up when—in the blink of an eye—the guy was on the floor and Leliana snatched the knife from his hands, turning it back on him. I never really understood how she pulled that one off. And call me crazy, but I didn't think this was the best time to practice. What else could I possibly do? Stomp on the assailant's foot? Should I risk it?

"Don't even think about it!" the assassin hissed into my ear as if reading my thoughts. "Whatever you attempt to do, I will know before you even get started."

Bloody blast it! This just wasn't my day!

"This... this is a joke, right?" I croaked, my forced chuckle turning into a terrified squeak when the sharp blade scratched my skin. "Okay, I get it, I get it. No joke. This is damn serious. But... why? I... I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't," the voice whispered into my ear. It was acid, dripping with contempt. "You always have your head stuck up your arse. All Alistair ever cares about is Alistair." The voice continued in a whiny singsong: "Alistair is so sad about his terrible, terrible childhood. Alistair is so lonely. Alistair is riddled with grief. Alistair cannot endure the burden of being king..."

"You... you want to kill me because I am a snivelling simp?" I gasped.

"No," my assailant snapped, pressing the blade harder against my throat. "I want to kill you because you took everything away from me."

"Whoa! Easy! Let's talk about this, okay? I believe this has to be some kind of misunderstanding..." I reasoned. I... I didn't want to die! For months I had wished to join Suri in death, but now that I was about to be reunited with her I quickly changed my mind about that matter. Time. What I needed was time. I realized I couldn't hope to free myself. My opponent was too skilled, too sneaky. One false move and the blade would slice my throat open and I would bleed to death. But time, time could save me. Arlington would find me missing. The guards would search for me. My assailant had to see there was no chance to escape.

"A misunderstanding!?" the assassin spat into my ear. "You are the one to misunderstand. You should have died a long time ago. You claim to worry about what is best for your people, for the kingdom, so I'm telling you: It's your death."

"What do you know about my kingdom?" I grunted angrily. "This is not about me being king, is it? It's about your jealousy."

"Jealousy!" Zevran laughed without humor. I could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck, dropplets of spittle hitting my skin as he spat out the next words. "You didn't deserve her! All you ever did was drop your petty problems on her. It was Suri to carry the burden of ending the Blight because you were too weak to do the job. It was she who grew up in the alienage and the tower, both prisons, while you whined on and on about your fate of growing up in a monastery. So you hated it there, did you? Did you ever care enough to ask Suri how much she hated the alienage or the tower? Did you ever care enough to wonder what she had gone through as a child while you sat sulking in your monastery?"

Ouch. Now that hit home. I mean, I knew about Suri's life, but unlike me, she never once lamented about it. There was nothing she could change about her past, so she concentrated on improving her future. I admired her strength. It convinced me even more that I wasn't a suitable leader. Zevran was right: to her, the story of my life had to sound like the cant of a sulking child. She took my hand and guided me on my way to become king. She taught me self-confidence; she showed me the strength buried inside of me. And she did all that with the patience of a saint.

"O-okay, I... I get what you mean..." I made another attempt to talk to the elf. He cut me short at once. He wasn't done with me yet. He had waited for a very long time to tell me what he truly thought of me. And he wanted me to realize all my failures and selfish behavior.

"You understand nothing, Alistair," Zevran snorted and with a quick twist of his wrist he pricked my skin again. Nothing bad—only a little cut. Still, I winced. "Suri and I, we were soulmates. She was just like me. We had both endured so much and yet we had survived. At first I didn't realize what a rare gem she was. I wanted her in my bed as a trophy to boost my ego, to once more prove to myself I was irresistable. Here's a confession—I've never told anyone before, but seeing as you won't live to tell anyway, what's the harm?—All this aggressive flirting, the nonchalance I display when asked about my past or emotions... it's my armor. Suri, she saw right through it. I was playing my game but it was by her rules, and before I even knew what happened, I was head over heels in love with her," he said sadly. Bitterly he added: "But, for some reason beyond my comprehension, she chose YOU. You took her away from me!"

Really? He could hardly put that blame on me. It had been Suri's decision. I had never said anything bad about Zevran or tried to manipulate her to dislike him. I objected when Suri spared his life, but only until she told me to kill the elf myself if I so wanted him dead. I couldn't have killed him. Despite his attempt on our lives, I felt sorry for him. I didn't want to believe his life story, but I felt it was true and so I couldn't ignore it. Zev, he was a poor sod. I didn't really pay him much mind, though. I was circling around Suri alone as she was the sun of my universe. Nobody shone brighter than her. My superficial opinion about Zevran marked him a lecher and a trickster without much of a conscience. Now I was sorry I didn't pay more attention and didn't at least try to become real friends with him. A bit late now? You don't say!

"There's no accounting for taste," I muttered and earned myself another prick. Blood trickled down the side of my neck.

"Oh, Alistair, my foolish friend, do you really believe she chose you because she loved you more? You just offered her more influence. Why do you believe she made you king? She told me Anora was the better choice for the job, but she had no control over her. You, however, ate out of the palm of Suri's hand. You'd have done anything she told you. A puppet—that's all you were to her!"

"That... that's not true!" I cried out. "She wasn't scheming! She didn't just use me! She loved me! You just want to hurt me!"

"You keep telling yourself that," Zevran snorted.

I bit my lips until I tasted blood to stop myself from lashing out. Doubt welled up in my heart, threatened to poison the purity of my love for Suri. Often had I wondered why she had given in to my wooing. I couldn't believe my own luck. This intelligent, courageous, beautiful woman loved me. It was like a dream come true. But now... now I found myself afflicted by the venomous doubt planted by Zevran. Had Suri really only chosen me because of her own future plans for this kingdom? It hurt, Maker, it hurt so much to even think about it.

"Ahhh, finally it begins to dawn on you," Zevran laughed nastily.

"No!" I snapped stubbornly. "No! Suri would never have sunken so low as to manipulate me and use my affection for her plots! She loved me! I know it in my heart! And nothing you say can ever change my feelings for her!"

"Why do you think did she came running straight to me after you dumped her?" the elf taunted.

Touché!

"Finally you were out of the way and we could be together—and then you took her away from me again!" Zevran growled next to my ear. "She sacrificed herself on the top of Fort Drakon to save your miserable life! She couldn't leave Ferelden without a monarch. Your death could have started another civil war and thus, she made the final blow. It wasn't her love for you; it was pragmatism. Nothing more." His voice trembled with bitterness. "We could have left you and your rotten kingdom alone. We could have dropped the whole damn Blight thing on you. But no... once more you stole her away. For good this time."

"Zevran," I croaked. "I lost her just like you did..."

"Shut up!" the elf snapped. "Shut up!" With every word he pricked my skin. "Again, it's only about you! Oh how you suffered! You claimed her all for yourself even after her death. It was your grief, your suffering! You were so wrapped up in yourself you never wasted a single thought on how I felt! You should have died! You! Not her! A blunder I intend to correct presently..."

"Zevran," I gasped hurriedly before he could end his final speech and my life. "Where is Rori? What did you do to her?"

"Ah, I thought you'd never ask," Zevran chortled coolly and managed to make me feel like a complete dick because she wasn't first on my mind when he threatened me with a long sharp knife. "I have her safely tucked away for later use."

"Use? What use?" I croaked. Oh, this didn't sound good. Not at all.

"Oh, now comes the part where the villain explains his whole evil plan to the hero, yes?" Zevran chuckled. "I will kill you, but of course I don't want to be held responsible for your death. I need a scapegoat, you understand, Alistair, my dear friend?"

"Nobody will believe a word you say when you put the blame on her!" I exclaimed furiously. "She will tell them the truth!"

"Tsk, tsk, Alistair, my stupid friend. Alas, she cannot tell anything when she's dead."

Oh no!

Doom!

DOOM!

"It's easy, you see," the elf explained cheerfully. "I will kill you and make it look as if Rori ended your life. Then I kill her, making it look as if she committed suicide. She will leave a heartbreaking letter about how she couldn't endure not being loved in return anymore."

"She will never write such a letter!" I snapped forcefully.

"Alistair, Alistair," Zevran sighed. "Forgery will do the trick. First it brought her here, then it brought you here, and in the end it will complete my revenge."

"The letter on my pillow!" I gasped. "It wasn't from Rori! It was yours! You put the spiked ball under my saddle. You murdered Anora and Slim Couldry! It wasn't about a rebellion or conspiracy... All this time it was you and I never even suspected you!"

One by one all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. They had been there all the time right in front of my very eyes but I had been too blind to see them.

"You've never been the sharpest knife in the drawer," Zevran remarked dryly. "You still don't understand. There is a conspiracy. They hired me like in the good old days when I still worked for the Crows after they found their first choice, the little Cousland imp, had no intention to die for her fatherland by murdering you. Fortune favors fools. You really have luck on your side. You evaded three attempts on your life, so my clients fired me and now try to get rid of you by questioning your royal blood..."

"Then why...?" I stammered. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's something personal, my friend. Very personal. I will not be bereft of my revenge! I could have killed you a thousand times. I had so many opportunities, but after my first attempt when you came running to me for help, I changed my plans. I didn't simply want you dead anymore. I wanted to destroy you. I wanted you to suffer. Your blossoming love for the little Cousland gave me the perfect opportunity for revenge. You will die with the knowledge that you are responsible for the little imp's death. You killed her just like you killed Suri..."

"Zevran," I croaked. "Spare Rori! She never caused you any harm. She's innocent..."

The elf sighed heavily. "Do I have to spell it out for you—again? I thought even you would understand..."

"No, no, I understand," I stammered desperately. "You need a scapegoat. You don't want anybody even getting the slightest suspicion about you. Here's what I propose: I will kill myself. I will write a suicide letter, telling Eamon how I cannot endure the pressure anymore, how the grief about Suri's death broke me. They will believe it. I've been depressed, I've been drinking too much... Nobody will be surprised. And I will kill myself however you want me to die. You want me to jump off the tower? Slash my wrists? Hang myself? It's your choice. Just let Rori go."

"How very chivalrous of you! Or should I say quixotic? You offer your life in exchange for the lady's. Well, let me think about it... hmm... no. You had your chance with Suri. With her you weren't nearly so concerned with being a gentleman."

"I wanted to save her!" I protested. "I wanted to slay the archdemon! She paralyzed me with a spell! I couldn't move no matter how hard I tried. I had to watch her die!" Anger flared inside of me like an inferno. "You were there, too! I cannot remember you even trying to stop her!" I snapped.

"I didn't know she would die!" Zevran defended himself. Bitterly he added: "She never told me." The sorrow softened his tone and losened his grip on me. He still held the knife to my throat but with less determination. The memory of his lost love left him vulnerable. This was my chance... If only I could break through to him. If only I could make him see the insanity of his actions. I just had to press the right buttons. Easier said than done when the assassin was a complete stranger to me. Before that night I would have claimed I knew Zevran. Truth is, I didn't know anything about him and I had never cared to look behind the facade.

"Zevran," I begged, giving up completely on trying to save myself. He hated me too much and somehow I even understood. "Please, let Rori go. You do not need her to get what you want."

"Alas, that is not correct, my friend," Zevran said coolly. "Your little imp has seen my face. I lured her here with another fake letter and she came running to meet you. She knows too much. I'm afraid I cannot accede your request. This has to be quite a dèjà-vu for you."

"No! Zevran, she will keep your secret! Just let me talk to her..." I pleaded in ultimate desperation.

The elf snickered, completely recovered from the weakening of his determination his memory of Suri had caused. "Ah, this is perfect! Again you are paralyzed, unable to save the woman you love."

"Zevran... no, not Rori!" My voice was trembling.

"You should have stayed away from her, you know. I liked it better when you were wallowing in grief, slowly destroying yourself. You were suffering and you deserve to suffer. But then the little imp stepped into your life and you began to heal. You were happy again. I wanted her gone, dead. I wanted you to sink into the gloom of your miserable life again. I even forged a letter to blame your riding accident on her, and you instantly came running to me to save her. Now, isn't that ironic?" Zevran laughed without humor. "I could have condemned her back then. Her life was in my hands. But at Fort Drakon I changed my mind. I noticed that special something between you and her and I said to myself: 'Zev, old boy, why kill him when he's down at the bottom, depressed and grief-ridden. He wants to die. You'd only do him a favor. Better to kill him when he's happy, when he has something to lose.' You so trusted in me. I found it far easier to fool you than I had expected. It was highly amusing."

"Then why try to poison me?" I muttered in confusion. I wasn't thinking straight. One, there was this sharp knife pointed at my carotid artery and yes, I was afraid. Two, I was worried out of my mind about Rori. All this time I had kept my distance. Sure, we had kissed and spent a night together. I missed her when she wasn't there and enjoyed having her around. However, she and I—it didn't seem real. It was too good to be true—our little rainbow bubble that was doomed to burst anytime now. I was always waiting for reality to catch up, for this dream to end. I had to find a wife, we both had to accept that and would be forced to move on, bruised and broken again and with another set of scars on our torn hearts. I neither wanted to hurt her nor myself. And so I had built an emotional wall to protect us both, a barrier to keep us apart—and now it all came crumbling down. What I had refused to accept rushed from the bottom of my heart to the surface. Maker's Breath! I loved her! I loved her and I would never get the chance to tell her. The realization was pure heartbreaking agony.

"Unfortunately, I still had my clients breathing down my neck," Zevran complained. "They were not happy with me when I murdered Anora instead." He so didn't sound sorry at all. "They gave me one last chance but I hadn't expected the Couldrys to be such ardent patriots. And after Slim's death, I lost my job." He heaved a sigh before adding merrily: "And now I'm my own boss." He chuckled to himself. "And that bodes ill for you, I'm afraid. Bye bye, Alistair!" The blade pressed against my skin but didn't cut. Hope flared up inside of me but then, with a movement so quick I didn't see it coming, he shoved me against the wall and turned me around to face him. The knife was back at my throat at once. "I want to see your face," the elf declared. "I want to see the fear in your eyes, the realization that your life flows out of you with every beat of your slowing heart." He grinned like a blasted maniac. "You will be reunited with your little imp soon," the elf informed me. "She only dies because she gave you happiness. You are responsible for her death."

"I see Rori hasn't gone down without a fight," I remarked dryly with a wry smile once I caught sight of the assassin. A rather useless sensation of pride rose inside of me. Zevran's left eye was black and swollen, deep scratches ran down his face and the side of his neck. A biting mark adorned his cheek, bald spots painted his skull where Rori had ripped out thick strands of blonde hair. At the sight of his destroyed face I figured it was only Zevran telling me Rori was still alive, a tale of hope that she could survive, that he might change his mind about her. He wanted me to beg and cry, to break down in front of him and crawl in the dirt, pleading with him to spare her. And it was only he who guaranteed she was still alive. I wasn't convinced. Quite the contrary. Did I really want to sit here and allow Zevran to slaughter me like a lamb? Blast it! No!

Only once before had I loathed a man. Loghain had murdered my brother and Duncan, my fatherly friend and mentor. I hadn't known until Ostagar how terrible my hatred could be. I hadn't known the scorching flames of hatred before Loghain taught me that lesson. Now, with as much contempt and loathing as I had reserved for Loghain Mac Tir, I spat at Zevran right in the face.

Then everything happened very fast. My spit hit the elf's good eye, blinding him for a brief moment. I dove sideways to avoid the lethal dagger. It missed my throat but dug into my shoulder, slicing through the leather of my armor. Even without sight, Zevran was an opponent to be reckoned with. He stabbed at me, his attacks led by the noise I made when scrambling away. I tripped over the mattress on the floor when jumping out of reach of the dagger wielded at my stomach. Landing on my hindquarters, I entangled myself with the blankets as I tried to get back to my feet. Helplessly wrapped up, I had no chance to evade the elf as he came for me. I raised my arm, covered in blankets to fend him off, trying to keep him away from my exposed throat. I fought with the desperation of a man facing death. Zevran fought with the determination of a man seeking revenge. It wasn't pretty, and he was the one with the knife as I couldn't reach my sword without opening myself up to his attacks. Rolling around on the mattress, we knocked over a candle and another blanket on the floor caught fire. The flames crawled across the wall; the mattress was engulfed in flames and with desperate effort I rolled myself and Zevran away from the fire. And, just my luck, he came to lie on top of me again.

"Die, you son of a bitch!" Zevran shrieked, his face contorted to a mask of frenzied hatred.

That very moment, a crouched figure silently emerged from the shadows and came upon the elf like a wraith. Zevran, noticing the movement at his back, turned just in time for the first blow to hit him straight across the face, breaking his nose. He stumbled backwards, and blinded by tears he raised his knife, waving it at his attacker aimlessly. The wraith dodged with ease and slammed its weapon sharply against the elf's temple. The former Crow collapsed at once without a sound.

Mrs. Couldry whirled her ladle around once, then tucked it into the waistband of her apron with skilled ease. "Language!" she grunted with grim satisfaction, poking the unconscious elf in the side with her foot. "I told you I would bring out my ladle if I ever heard you curse again!"

Whoa!

WHOA!

I swear, Mrs. Couldry could defeat a high dragon with her wooden ladle. Too bad Duncan never got a chance to recruit her. The Blight would have ended in Ostagar. No way the archdemon would have stood a chance against Mrs. Couldry. It would have crawled back underground and told its darkspawn this was not the right century and not the right place for a siege.

"Mrs. ... Mrs. Couldry!" I stammered, still wrapped up in a bundle of blankets like a huge human roulade. Not exactly my most heroic moment. I just couldn't believe it! There was this tiny old lady with her grey hair and wrinkly face and she had just beaten up a former Crow with a ladle as if she had been spanking an impertinent brat. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I am here to make sure you live to see tomorrow," Mrs. Couldry snorted as she unwrapped me hurriedly. The flames were licking at the ceiling, consuming anything in their way. The heat was making my eyes water. My skin burned and the smoke took away my breath. "Again." She glowered at me as she helped me back to my feet. "Now get out of here before we both get roasted like a pair of skinless chickens."

"Rori!" I cried, pulling free from Mrs. Couldry's grasp as she dragged me out of the room. "She's somewhere in this house! I have to find her!"


	19. Through the Fire and the Flames

First thing's first: I threw Zevran's unconscious form out of the very next window I came across on the first floor of the hunting lodge. He safely landed in the bushes below. Hmph. If you ask my opinion, it was a pity he didn't break his neck. I know what you're thinking: Why make the effort to throw him out at all? Well, because Mrs. Couldry ordered me to, and I wasn't going to butt heads with her about that matter. 1) Because she was armed with her ladle and she was never hesitant to use it, and 2) Because, she argued, the treacherous bastard was the only one able to identify at least some of the conspirators. I couldn't have cared less about Zevran or any stuck up nobles playing their political games that very moment. Actually, I was so hopping mad I was very much tempted to save myself any further trouble and leave him there in the burning house. For all he had done he deserved to die. But Mrs. Couldry promised to help me search for Rori in return for sparing Zevran, and that sounded like a good deal to me. I didn't know for sure Rori was even inside the house. I didn't know for sure she was still alive—but I wouldn't risk abandoning her if she was. I had to be sure of her fate.

By the time I had removed the boards and shoved Zevran out of the corridor window, parts of the ceiling of the burning room collapsed with a loud crash. Immediately the flames flared, smoke billowed upwards through the new opening. You know what a stack effect is? It's how chimneys work. Pretty useful when you need to heat a huge palace. Or when you intend to burn it down. it's what turns a house fire into an inferno; thick black suffocating smoke and infernal heat included.

Stumbling backwards I stared at the flames, thrown back in time into the chaos of the battle of Denerim. The city had been on fire, houses had collapsed around us, sparks and ash rained down on us, the stench of burnt flesh contaminated the air. The roaring of the fire, the screams of dying men, women, and children mingling with the animalistic shrieks and snarls of the darkspawn, metal clashing against metal in a fight for life and death... Despite the heat a shudder ran down my spine—and then Mrs. Couldry whacked the back of my head with her ladle and snapped me out of my stupor.

We ran down the corridor, away from the fire, shouting Rori's name. We darted into every room, a quick check to make sure she wasn't hidden under a bundle of rags or inside an old wardrobe. It was nothing more than a perfunctory search. The fire was catching up quickly and Mrs. Couldry kept urging me on, poking me with her ladle. More than once I pulled free from her grasp. "She could still be in there!" I protested over and over again, my voice choked by the smoke filling my lungs and the overwhelming sensation of loss and despair. Frantically I ran down the broad staircase, taking two steps at a time, leaving Mrs. Couldry behind. I was in such a hurry, driven by my panic that I tripped and stumbled down several steps, slamming face forward into the ground. Groaning I rolled onto my back. A canopy of flames stretched above me, red and orange and flickers of blue. The whirling flames formed grotesque faces, demonic figures of a deathly beauty. Myriads of sparks like fiery fireflies danced through the air. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight.

"Don't dawdle, son!" Mrs. Couldry called from above. Then she just slid down the banister with the dignity and grace of a true lady, held out her ladle for me to take hold of, and pulled me back to my feet. This old lady freaked me out. She always kept her cool even in the rather blazing heat of the moment.

Next, the boards blocking the front door were kicked open from the outside. Led by Sergeant Kylon and Teagan, half a dozen soldiers in heavy boots stomped inside. I was grabbed by my arms and dragged towards the door. My protests went unheard. Well, I guess, they did hear me. I shouted at the top of my voice. They just chose to ignore me. Again. Didn't kings give orders? Weren't subjects meant to obey? I recall that was the only part of the job description I actually approved of. As far as I recalled, the obedience part included stupid and suicidal orders. Nobody dared to object when Cailan decided to fight at the forefront at Ostagar. But did anybody listen when I declared I wanted to stay inside the burning house and search for my missing love? Nope. It was all "Save the king!" … "Protect the king!" … "Be reasonable, your Majesty!"

"His Majesty doesn't want to be reasonable!" I snapped. "Let go of me! This is an order! I will... I will... do something... something... something terrible... if you don't obey at once!" I sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum and naturally was ignored for my own good.

What? Why didn't I order my guards to search for her? Have them risk their lives while I sat on the lawn and twirled my thumbs? Not my style. In that moment it didn't even occur to me. I hadn't been king for long. Until my coronation, nobody had ever given a damn about my life. Nobody but Suri. As a templar, as a Grey Warden, I was the one risking his life for a higher good. As king I was meant to sit back and risk other people's lives for whatever I wanted to achieve. Doesn't that sound terribly wrong to you? I've learned a lot about delegating tasks ever since, but whenever someone risks their life for me, it still feels so very wrong. Guilt deprives me of sleep. I guess I'll just never get used to the thought that my life is worth more than anybody else's.

Teagan and Kylon dragged me outside and dropped me onto the lawn, pretending they didn't hear the noise I made. "Rori is still inside!" I cried, scrambling back to my feet to elbow past my sort-of-uncle and my Sergeant. And finally! Finally someone cared to listen!

If you think Teagan and the guards marched back into the lodge to search for Rori, then you will find yourself seriously disappointed. They did no such thing. Despite her appointment to the post of Arlessa of Denerim, she still was an outcast. Nobody gave a damn about her. Malicious gossip made it so many nobles would have rather gotten rid of her. They smiled to her face as she now wielded power, only waiting for an opportunity to backstab her. I can tell you a thing or two about these bastards. Rori and I indeed had a whole lot more in common than our predilection for nose pickings.

Anyway, they say there's no loyalty like that of a Mabari, and never has that saying been truer than that day when Furdinand—without hesitation—rushed back into the burning hunting lodge to find Rori. Sergeant Kylon grabbed Furdinand's collar to yank him back. They were short of Mabaris, you see, and Furdinand was needed for breeding. Furdinand, however, was not to be stopped. He snapped and bit at anybody in close range and just dragged Kylon along as he leapt into the inferno. Seconds later the sergeant reappeared, coughing and cursing loudly—until Mrs. Couldry, shrieking "Language!", whacked him over the head with her ladle. Meanwhile, Teagan and several guards tackled me down by lying on top of me. They were also short of Theirins and —well, you get the picture. I wiggled and squirmed, kicked and bucked, cursed and pleaded. My level of success: A mouth full of dirt and grass.

And the cherry on top was Teagan barking at the guards: "The Mabari! We need him! Get him out of there!"

"Andraste's flaming sword!" I grunted bitterly. "There's a woman inside that inferno and you send the guards after the dog? That's what I call a Fereldan patriot to the core."

Teagan didn't bother with a reply. He didn't even look at me. And when Furdinand returned... alone... his fur scorched, paws covered in blisters, Teagan turned away, his shoulders slumped, his hand raised to cover his face. Damn right. There was a whole lot to be ashamed of and I was determined to remind him over and over again of what he had done for the rest of his blasted life. I wanted to shout at him, wanted to hurt him just like he had hurt me, but there were no words for the agony that tore me apart at the sight of the burning house and the miserable, devastated dog. Furdinand whined as he pressed his trembling body against me when he collapsed on the ground. Sobbing, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Maker, why have you forsaken me?" I muttered, my vision blurred with tears. Pathetic? Oh come on! This for sure was a moment to feel sorry for myself! I mean, what had I done to deserve this? There are so many evil bastards out there that cause nothing but harm, despair, and destruction and still live happily ever after. All my life I had tried to do what was right. My conscience hardly ever gave me a rest. And what did I get in return? And what about Rori? What had she done? Or Suri? It just wasn't fair!

Oh blast! I shouldn't have brought up Suri. Now images of Suri on the pyre kept popping up in my treacherous mind...

... All dressed up, her hands folded across her chest, a single red rose between her cold dead fingers. She looked as if she was sleeping when the flames of the pyre blazed around her... My grief, the heartbreaking agony that tore me apart, it had pushed me close to the edge of losing sanity. Shale had clamped her arms around me to stop me from throwing myself into the fire. By the love of Lady Andraste! The fire consumed Suri's body, lit her dress, her hair. Behind a wall of angry red flames I could see her flesh crumble... I silently fought against the golem's hold on me. It was useless—just like everything else...

And now the fire took Rori away from me. In my hysterical state of mind, she became the figure on the pyre, burning in front of my very eyes. But unlike Suri she was still alive, her eyes wide open, pleading with me to help her... but there was nothing I could do. Paralyzed once more, I abandoned her just like I had left Suri alone.

It was my fault. They both had died because of me. One to protect me, one as a tool to punish me. If I had stayed away, if I had accepted that happiness was never meant for me, if I had acted on duty instead of my own egoistic wishes...

"Your Majesty?" Sergeant Kylon's voice made me look up.

"Get lost," I groaned. I wanted to curl up and cry and not be bothered. While I was uselessly flopping around on the ground, my guards and servants tried to extinguish the fire. Another moment in my life to be ashamed about later.

"The captive, your Majesty," Kylon went on mercilessly. "Do you wish him to be sent to Fort Drakon for interrogation?"

Confused I looked up and saw red. Well, actually I saw a rather bruised and battered Zevran dangling between two guards dragging him along. Zevran now resembled something of a red rag—battered, torn, stained. Within a heartbeat I went from being dashed to the ground to a delirious frenzy, shoving the guards aside as I threw myself at the miserable elf.

"You murdered her!" I screeched, my hands clenching around the elf's throat. He flailed with his arms helplessly, he choked and sputtered, desperately gasping for air. "YOU! MURDERED! HER!" I grunted, smashing his head against the ground with every single word. He was here, alive and still kicking while my love died in the flames. I was going to correct this—NOW.

"Let go!" a sharp voice behind me ordered. Yeah, well, talk to the hand! I was busy squeezing Zevran's life out of him. I could feel him slipping... when all of a sudden Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. Then the old lady grabbed me by my ear and twisted it around. "Let go, I said!"

I let go. "Ow! But he is the bad guy!" I complained. "He murdered Rori! And Slim!" With some delay and reluctance I added: "And Anora." Zevran collapsed on the ground, clutching his throat as he painfully gasped for air. He had hardly suffered enough. Mercilessly I regarded him, any humanity consumed by my hatred. This was for sure one of my darkest hours when I stared into the pitch black abyss of my soul and realized what I was capable of.

"Revenge will neither bring Slim nor Rori back to life. Don't let your grief and fury blind your judgement, son." Mrs. Couldry lectured me, whacking the back of my head when I rolled my eyes. "What kind of king do you want to be?"

"I don't want to be king at all." I whined sullenly. I just wanted to kill that blasted elf. I couldn't think any farther ahead than that. There was no meaning in my life anymore. I barely managed to overcome Suri's death. Rori on top was just enough to destroy me.

Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle came down on my head. "You want to be a wise and just king," she corrected.

"Now that you mention it…" I muttered, rubbing the back of my head. "Alright, let me think about it..." I made a big show of furrowing my brow and thoughtfully tapping my index finger against my chin. "Here's the king's judgment: Zevran is a sodding bastard and I want to kill him... Hey! Stop that! I bruise easily! You cannot just whack the king whenever you feel like it!"

"You need some sense knocked into you, young man!" Mrs. Couldry remarked coolly.

"Whose side are you supposed to be on, anyway?"

"On yours, you fool! Zevran wants to say something. Listen!" I was far from inclined to listen to anything Zevran had to say, but face to face with Mrs. Couldry, one arm akimbo and her ladle pointed at me, I begrudgingly gave in, determined to not allow anything to influence my already canned opinion.

"Rori," Zevran rasped, his face bright red by the effort of speaking.

"You murdered her!" I spat into his face and instantly got introduced to Mrs. Couldry's ladle. "Hey! Why don't you hit him!?"

"Wise and just!" Mrs. Couldry growled, poking my chest with her ladle.

"Fine!" I snapped. "What about... her." I couldn't even make myself say her name without bursting into tears. I had such a huge lump in my throat I felt like suffocating.

"She... she wasn't... wasn't in the house," Zevran croaked, weakly waving at the burning lodge.

"Huh?"

"He says she's not in there," Mrs. Couldry translated. "That's not so hard to understand, is it?"

"But you said..." I stammered, completely confused.

"I lied," Zevran admitted. "I wanted to hurt you the most I possible could. Truth is, she never entered the lodge."

WHAT! But that meant... could it be possible? Could she... Maker! I was feeling dizzy...

"Well, then where is she?" Mrs. Couldry demanded to know, always the practical type, while I was only sputtering incomprehensible nonsense.

"In her room in the palace. She walked in on me when I stole her letter paper," Zevran explained. "For such a little girl, she has a strong punch..." He continued talking but that I didn't hear anything else—I darted toward the palace as soon as the elf's information about Rori's whereabouts sank in. Teagan shouted after me, but I chose to ignore him. Briefly the thought that I might run into yet another trap crossed my mind, but since I couldn't have cared less about my own well-being as long as I was Rori-less, I chose to ignore that possibility just like Teagan. I hardly dared to hope to find Rori alive. She had pretty much ruined Zevran's clever plan to put the blame on her when she appeared at the wrong place at the wrong time, hadn't she? Had he killed her to conceal his crime? Could I endure finding her body? Maybe I should wait for Mrs. Couldry and send her in first...?

Alistair, you sniveling simp! Pull yourself together and behave like a man!

With knees as wobbly as pudding, I burst into Rori's room. It was a mess. Clothes, books, papers all thrown around, the chair at her desk toppled over... No sign of Rori, though. Hurriedly I searched under the bed—dust bunnies and a single rainbow-colored striped sock. Inside the wardrobe—a shower of empty booze bottles hailed down on me upon opening the doors. In the large wooden chest at the window—filled to the brim with Rori's crumpled clothes. She obviously just stuffed them in. I felt my eyelid twitch. Years in the monastery for templar training and you learn how to correctly fold your clothes. Kitchen duty for her for the next two months. I was still staring at the mess inside the chest with a mixture of amusement and templar-fueled disapproval when a sound behind me made me jump. With wide eyes I watched how one drawer of the dresser next to the door slowly slid open. Carefully I inched closer, peeping into it. It was empty. I closed it again, returning to search the room for any sign of Rori when the drawer opened again all on its own.

Staring at the dresser I noticed that it had four drawers the last one at the very bottom larger than the others above—and there was something moving inside, muffled sounds included. The open drawer was the second from below right above the suspicious one. I slammed it shut and quickly pulled the largest drawer open... And there she was, neatly folded into the drawer without any space to move, bruised and battered, gagged, tied up like a birthday present and as mad as a hornet.

I burst into laughter and tears all at the same time, sank to my knees in front of the drawer, laughing and crying so hard I could hardly breathe. She was alive! Hallelujah!

"About time!" she complained as soon as I finally freed her from the gag with my trembling fingers. "Phew! You stink!" She wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, it's good to see you, too," I replied with a wide foolish grin. She was right. Smeared with soot, my hair scorched, eyebrows and lashes pretty much gone I reeked of smoke and burnt hair.

"By the look of you, I take it you already met Zevran tonight, didn't you?" she asked with heartfelt sympathy.

"It was quite a hot encounter," I confirmed. "He threatened to cut my throat, but Mrs. Couldry saved me. During the ensuing fight we set the house on fire."

"That's what I'd call out of the frying pan into the fire," Rori remarked dryly.

"Zevran's been arrested. It is over now." Of course, I knew it wasn't over. I'm not stupid! Not all the time! It had only just begun. The conspiracy was still active and though Zevran was down for the count, they still wanted me gone. However, the very last thing I wanted to be reminded of right now was Zevran's treachery or the lack of fealty amongst Fereldan nobles. For me, Rori had been dead—and now here she was. It was like a miracle. Like finding the Ashes of the Sacred Urn, like ending the Blight despite all odds, like... Oh blast it! I heaved Rori out of the drawer and kissed her. I pressed her to my body and showered her with kisses, whispering her name breathlessly. "Rori! Oh Maker! Rori! Rori! You're alive! Maker's Breath! Rori!" and so on. You get the picture.

Still all tied up she lay in my arms, unable to move and rather confused. "Alistair! Maker's Breath!" Rori finally squeaked when I opted for kissing every single cute freckle on her nose and cheeks and there were some on her forehead... "Yes, it's good to see you, too," she giggled. "Alive. I'd like it even better if you untied me."

"Oh yes, of course," I grinned foolishly only then noticing how tight and itchy my skin was. Well, blast that! I quickly removed the ropes around Rori—meaning I cut them after breaking two fingernails when trying to pry open the knots. And as I was already removing things I continued with her clothes, then mine. I couldn't take my hands of her, I had to touch her, feel her constantly, as if she would dissolve should I let go. I still couldn't completely understand I hadn't lost her.

Once everything was out of the way, I moved us both to her bed and there I made love to her like never before. During the Blight I had already found that my brushes with death worked like an aphrodisiac. You are just so damn happy that you are still alive and your love is still alive and miraculously neither she nor you are seriously wounded, then there's all this adrenaline and the emotions... Maker's Breath! I loved her! I loved her with all my heart and I wanted to shout it out loud! …And yet I kept silent. It was in the tenderness of my touch, in the savageness of my kisses, in the whispered caress of her name, in my shining eyes when I looked at her, but never did I say those three little words to her.

Later that night she lay in my arms, mumbling softly in her sleep, her head resting against my shoulder, her arm sprawled across my bare chest. I was so tired my body demanded sleep. However, my troubled mind allowed me no rest. I still had to decide what to do with Zevran. Anger flared inside of me whenever I thought of him and his deeds. He had taken so many lives and what for? Revenge! Isolated by his grief and pain, by the loss he had suffered, he had chosen me to blame and put his plan into action ruthlessly. Now Zevran was under my thumb and I had the power to crush him just like Loghain...

The Hero of the River Dane down on his knees as he admitted his defeat. The cold and hatred, the contempt I had in stow for him, it all flowed into this moment of our confrontation. I killed him and for a moment there was satisfaction. I had avenged Duncan. Cailan. All those who had died because of Loghain's actions and orders. All those who had suffered. I killed him right in front of Anora, without hesitation, without mercy. There at the Landsmeet, her grief didn't touch me. I was frozen inside. Later, however, the shame caught up with me. Suri congratulated my display of merciless strength. She claimed it impressed the nobles. I wasn't the wimp they all thought me to be. I could take action. Yeah, right. I could decapitate a man on his knees in front of his daughter's eyes. That sounded more like a complete douchebag to me.

I still didn't regret Loghain's death. In my self-righteous fury I had decided he deserved to die. Not once did it occur to me I could have been mistaken. Not about the penance he had to do. That was as sure as eggs is eggs. However, after Riordan's revelation it slowly began to dawn on me that perhaps there had been another... a better solution. Of course I beat that thought down at once... until Suri died. Then it came crashing down on me without mercy. Riordan could have recruited Loghain. In case he would have survived the Joining—and honestly, I had no doubt about that—there would have been one more Warden to face the Archdemon. Loghain—that much I had to admit—would have sacrificed himself to repent. He would have died; Suri would have lived.

To make it even worse, I began to realize I had failed Duncan instead of avenging him when I killed Loghain. What would Duncan have done in my place? What would any good Grey Warden have done? Would he have wasted the reinforcement Loghain meant for the Grey Wardens by executing him? The answer, although I refused to acknowledge it, was no. Revenge was nothing more than selfish nonsense compared to the importance of the Grey Wardens. Duncan would have put duty to the Grey Wardens first, regardless of his own feelings.

Words cannot describe how much this realization made me suffer. I had betrayed and failed Duncan by not being the Grey Warden he saw in me. I had betrayed Suri by taking the only chance she had away from her. And what for? Did I feel any better now with Loghain dead and gone, cut down by my sword? No. I did not feel any better. Quite the contrary.

That led me back to the original question: What to do with Zevran? He had to be punished. He had to repent. His death, however, wouldn't make much of a change. One less assassin in the world. That was about it.

Mrs. Couldry had every reason to want him dead. Only she didn't. She reminded me a lot of Duncan. It was the greater good she had in mind, although I couldn't see what good could come from allowing Zevran to live. I couldn't just set him free, and locking him away didn't sound all that thrilling either. We've never been close friends, but I somewhat thought we at least were companions. All the time we had traveled together, fought together, when he had teased me about my exertions with my fellow Warden... didn't it mean anything? It had meant nothing to him. Quite obviously. It made me sad. It hurt. And yeah, I was in a huff.

Wise and just.

Easier said than done.

A conspiracy wanted to replace me. The sluggish progress of rebuilding my Blight-ridden country, the famine and poverty caused riots all over Ferelden. Of course I was the one to blame, although I really tried to do my best. Alright, not true. For a long time after Suri's death, Eamon had done his best while I lay in my bed, bawling into my pillow and living off high proof liquids. As if rebelling peasants, treacherous nobles, and destruction everywhere weren't yet enough, there were darkspawn still running amok in Amaranthine and Weishaupt had sent an Orlesian to solve Fereldan's problems. On top of all that, I was supposed to find a wife and conceive an heir. Better two. The only child policy hadn't worked out so well for Ferelden royalty.

There was Rori, right here next to me. The woman I loved. Her curly hair tickled me whenever she moved in her sleep. I closed my eyes, reveling the sensation of her soft, warm body snuggled against me. The sound of her steady breathing, her scent lingered with a hint of verbena. I was so familiar with her already. She had become part of my life, my affection for her was obvious. Many had known I had lost my heart to her before I had come to accept it. She was everything to me—and the only thing I wanted more than her being with me was to keep her safe. Zevran had used her to hurt me. He had threatened her life and I had crumbled. I would have done anything to save her. Considering my long list of known and unknown enemies, she was in constant danger as long as she was my queen of hearts.

During the Blight, Morrigan and Wynne had asked me what I would do should I have to choose between my love and my duty. I had refused to answer their questions. Back then it had seemed ridiculous. What kind of choice would that have been? The Blight would have destroyed us all, Suri, me, everybody. Now their question suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Rori made me vulnerable. And I made her a target. She was the perfect tool to manipulate me, to force me to do whatever my opponents wanted. Would I sacrifice her or betray my duty as king? To protect her was impossible. To keep her near a deadly risk. I didn't even want to imagine what my enemies would do to her to make me yield. I couldn't lose her. Not like that.

Zevran sat in the dungeons of Fort Drakon, awaiting his future with dread. Rori lay in my arms in her little bedroom in the Palace of Denerim, dreaming of her future with me.

And I, I was the one to decide their fates.

At the break of dawn after a sleepless night, I knew what I had to do.


	20. Doom

"Ave rex, moriturus te salutat!"* a raspy voice greeted me when I strode into the cell, radiating kingliness. Alright, who am I trying to fool? There was nothing remotely kingly about this situation. I hated being here. I hated being forced to make the decision I had to make. I hated being king... What? I keep repeating myself? Whining won't change a thing? Ugh. You sound like Mrs. Couldry, you do.

"Greetings?" Greetings my ass! "This is no courtesy visit." The light of my torch fell on the miserable figure crouched in the corner of the dark, cold cell in the bowel of Fort Drakon. Ironically, it was the very same one Suri had inhabited when captured by Ser Cauthrien. "Maker's Breath!" I gasped, stumbling backwards, already calling for a healer. "Blast it, Zevran! Why didn't you tell them what they wanted to know?" I handed my torch to the man at my back while carefully examining Zevran's injuries and assuring him help was on the way. I had come here with the determination to show no sympathy or mercy when informing the captive of my judgment, but the sight of the elf had my voice waver with pity. In the flickering light of the torch, he hardly resembled a humanoid figure anymore and... let's just say it was horrible to look at him and I'll spare you the details, okay? My self-righteous anger and hatred melted away instantly. I hadn't ordered him to be tortured but obviously Eamon and Teagan had taken matters into their own hands while I had been rolling around in bed with Rori.

"I did give them every piece of information I had. Alas, they did not believe there wasn't more. I'm afraid I had to disappoint them," the elf croaked, offering what probably was supposed to be a smile. He failed miserably. His usual merriness sounded forced. No surprise. I'd have curled up and bawled my eyes out in his place. "Why have you come here? To see me on the ground begging for mercy? Well, here I am and I do beg. I'm not ready to die. Isn't it strange? No matter how miserable life is, it is still worth living... When I accepted the contract to kill Suri and you I wanted to die. I did not expect to survive a confrontation with two Grey Wardens..."

"As I recall, you referred to us as easy targets," I huffed.

"You didn't expect me to admit I was clearly inferior, did you? I have a reputation to maintain!" the elf replied with a smirk. As much as he still could smirk with his destroyed face. With enormous effort I fought down the urge to apologize to him for the inconvenience of having been tortured and tossed into the darkest cell one could possibly find in Fort Drakon. I had to remind myself of his victims and that Zevran had tried to murder me several times—and next to being hopping mad, I still felt utterly sorry for him. I hadn't known you could despise someone and still feel sympathy for them. I guess you learn something new everyday. "It is a useful strategy to make your opponents believe you are stronger than you actually are. Turn yourself into a legend. It helps scare those away who are tempted to stack the deck against you. You should give it a try."

"Good advice? From you?" I snorted, sulking because he was right. Without my display of weakness and indecisiveness, the nobles might not have teamed up to replace me. "Suri should have killed you when we first met you," I grunted.

"Alas, she did not. Instead, fate offered me a possibility I hadn't dared to dream of and Suri showed mercy I certainly did not deserve. I was lucky. Brasca," he cursed, heaving a heavy sigh. "I guess this time I run out of luck. I am going to die. The only questions left are when and how." He quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

Oh, so it was my turn now. Wisdom and justice, here they come!

"In the Deep Roads by the hand of darkspawn in thirty years, give or take. With a bit of luck, that is. It could also happen much, much sooner..."

Zevran's jaw dropped, or what was left of it dropped. Briefly I wondered if it was due to the rather miserable condition of his face but the stunned silence betrayed him. Haha! For the first time ever, I had shut Zevran up effectively. Booyah!

"Alistair, my foolish friend," Zevran said slowly after he had recovered from the shock. "Are you saying you wish to recruit me for the Grey Wardens?"

"Oh, that would be foolish indeed, wouldn't it? You tried to murder me. I have to use your execution as a warning to show I am not the pathetic weakling everybody believes me to be. Even you advised me to act like a hardliner. What would the conspirators think if I set you free? To pardon you is beyond question, you understand?"

"Absolutely," Zevran confirmed.

"But this fellow here..." I gestured at the man in the background, still holding the torch and shifting his weight uneasily. "Warden-Commander Caron used the Right of Conscription to recruit you, didn't you, Commander?" I elbowed the Orlesian Grey Warden when he just gaped at me, then at Zevran, then at me again. I glowered at him as menacingly as possible. I should have borrowed Mrs. Couldry's ladle. It had proven to be a quite useful decision-making aid.

"Um... oui... yes..." Caron muttered reluctantly. "That's what I did. It was my idea. Nobody suggested anything to me. All my idea." He insisted, convincing no one.

"Commander Caron came to me at the break of dawn, kicked me out of bed as it were." Pointedly I glared at the Orlesian.

"It was very early indeed," he grumbled, hardly stifling a yawn.

"And the Commander said: 'This man, Zevran, he is experienced in fighting darkspawn. During the Blight, he fought darkspawn day after day. Ferelden is short of Grey Wardens. We do need any reinforcements we can get, considering the state of Amaranthine.'"

"That's exactly what I said," Caron confirmed lamely.

"He spoke with ardor and he had good arguments," I added. "Alas, I had to deny his request even when he beseeched me..."

Caron grunted, regarding me sullenly while he scratched his unshaven chin. Everything about him screamed: Too early!

"So he went: 'Your Majesty, you leave me no choice but to evoke the Right of Conscription on Zevran Arainai.'" I sighed heavily. "What could I do? My own father, King Maric, had given the Grey Wardens this privilege. Who am I to disregard my father's decision?"

"Alas, Alistair, my royal friend, there was nothing you could do," Zevran agreed, sounding much more like himself again. "That also applies for me. The Grey Wardens are very much like my last employer— you just don't turn their offer down. When they say you're in, then in you are."

"C'est vrai." Caron muttered when I kicked his shin. "Bienvenue chez les Gardes des Ombres, Monsieur Arainai."

"You have such an incredibly sexy accent, my knightly friend," Zevran purred. "My life is yours, my deadly sex god!"

I rolled my eyes in undisguised amusement. I bet he even flirted with his torturer. Something like 'Oh, you have such a long hard tool, my sadistic friend. Do you intend to use it on me?'

Caron stared at the elf in shocked disbelief. Haha! Priceless. Well, he would get used to Zevran somehow, someday.

"Very well, now that is settled..." I rubbed my hands contently, clapped Caron's back and nodded at Zevran. "See you at Vigil's Keep."

"Your Majesty certainly has better—more important—things to do," Caron protested.

"Believe it or not, I can decide myself what is and isn't of importance," I deadpanned. Caron didn't like the prospect of me looking over his shoulder, as though it didn't sit well with him to be told who to recruit. The Grey Wardens had always been independent. Not mingling with politics guaranteed their independence. I had come to understand that too late. My intention when giving Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens was to honor them, show their importance and make sure they had the needed strength to stand against whatever the darkspawn would come up with next. So much for that theory. In reality, I had forced the Grey Wardens of Ferelden to become a political force in a moment of complete aberration and now had to face the music. Mrs. Couldry always said we all make mistakes. Even kings. Anyway, I wasn't going to sit idly by and wait for Caron to mess things up. That was my job after all!

"As you wish, your Majesty," Caron grunted, bowing stiffly before he turned on his heels and marched off.

"This is an unexpected turn of events," Zevran remarked as soon as his new boss was gone. "I'm not sure whether your mercy is a punishment worse than death or yet another chance at life."

"It's what you make of it, I guess. In my case, I'm not sure whether this is a wise decision or a foolish one. Unfortunately—unlike you—I have no influence on the results anymore." I was taking a great risk with the assassin. If he survived the Joining, he could decide to come back to me and finish what he had begun. "You already know what it means to be a Grey Warden. Kinda. To travel with them is still different from being one, but you have the basics."

"You could have me executed," the elf insisted. "You could have had your revenge— and guarantee your safety. Yet you chose to recruit me for the Grey Wardens. Why?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing for Ferelden. That's what good kings do, right? At least Wynne kept telling me that. And Suri. Oh, she would go on and on about what kind of king she wanted me to be. Mrs. Couldry and Rori, too. Eamon, Teagan... Everybody keeps reminding me what it takes to be a good king."

"I see."

"What? Did you expect a more personal explanation? Something about the good old days or how we fought so valiantly together? I would have gladly killed you like I killed Loghain. But other than the satisfaction of the moment, there was nothing to gain from Loghain's death. He could have been useful. I have come to realize that the hard way." For my part, I was done talking. I didn't want to discuss my personal life or inner musings with Zevran. I wanted to be done with him and move on before I changed my mind and went back to my original plan of tearing his head off with my bare hands. One problem solved, another one to deal with. I had left Rori asleep in her bed. With a bit of luck that's where I would still find her when I returned to the palace. Without farewell I turned to the door, stopping when Zevran called my name.

"Alistair!"

"What is it now?" I groaned.

"Thank you. You will not regret your decision."

The sincerity of his tone made me pause. This was Zevran, the master deceiver. Was he luring me into a false sense of security? Or had he truly changed his mind about killing me? It was impossible to guess. "You're full of surprises, Zevran," I said tiredly. "Hopefully this is the last one. You'll just have to forgive me for not believing a thing you say."

"Alas, it seems I have to prove myself worthy again," Zevran mused merrily.

"Whatever," I muttered, squeezing past the healer who had finally arrived and at the sight of his patient's condition began to curse loudly.

On returning to the palace I wondered whether Zevran would make it. The Joining could very well end his life—or his former employers, both the Crows and the conspirators, could feel tempted to make an example out of him. He was like a cat, though, always landing on his feet and with nine lives. I was pretty sure I had made the best of this situation. Still, I craved revenge. There was a huge gap between the logic of my mind and my sentiments. And I certainly didn't abide by Mrs. Couldry's 'but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also' platitude. It didn't sound very wise to me, though Mrs. Couldry made it sound like it. I guess, as an elf you had hardly any possibility to strike back, so for her it made sense. For me as king... I preferred a strong punch right to the face. Although I had never regarded the life of a Grey Warden or the constant fight against the darkspawn as a punishment myself. I had chosen this way of life for Zevran. It had given meaning to my life and I had felt at home amongst my brothers in arms. For Zevran, however, it would be active repentance. I had no intention of doing him a favor. It was all about what was best for Ferelden.

On entering Rori's room, I tripped over her boots. Blasted curses of a thousand misfortunes! Why did she have to leave those lying around everywhere?! With a loud thud, I landed on my hindquarters, knocking over a pile of books and the—thankfully empty—chamber pot in the process. So much for a silent entry.

"Alistair! Are you hurt?" Rori asked worriedly the same time Mrs. Couldry croaked: "A tidy house, a tidy mind. You really should clean this room, girl."

Oh... aha... Rori out of bed and Mrs. Couldry in the house. This was not going as planned... Blast!

"It's not messy in here," Rori protested lamely as she helped me back to my feet. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose snotty, dried tears stained her cheeks. She turned away when she felt my eyes on her.

"Hey Puck, what's wrong?" I asked gently, reaching out for her. She shrugged my hands off her shoulders, fleeing to the other side of the room where she stood at the window, staring into the park, her arms safely wrapped around herself.

Uh-oh, what was going on? I had come here with every intention of making her cry but someone beat me to that unpleasant task. Who and why, that was the question. Why I wanted to make her cry? I had to. I had to end this between us. It was for her own good, although I never expected her to share my opinion on the matter. I had to protect her! I loved her so much I would rather rip my own heart out—and hers—than lose her for good like I had lost Suri.

"Err... Mrs. Couldry... what are you doing here?" I inquired, hoping for some insight. "Room service?"

"Secret Service," the old elven lady replied smugly, twirling her ladle around. "The Bannorn is bringing charges against you, son. They won't come here to Denerim for the Landsmeet, however. They meet at West Hill where your father was defeated by treachery. That alone is an impertinent affront." Mrs. Couldry snorted disgustedly. "You cannot stay in Denerim, your Majesty, and wait for the outcome of this meeting. Those who are undecided about which side to take can only be convinced by the presence of their king. They force you to come to them and thus mark you a target."

Aha! Same shit, different day. More problems ahead but certainly not the reason of Rori bawling her eyes out.

"But I am needed in Amaranthine!" Not a single second did I believe Caron could deal with the situation. Alright, I also didn't have much faith in myself, but this was my kingdom after all and I was still a Grey Warden and thus felt responsible for any darkspawn threat. In my opinion, darkspawn were always more threatening and worse than political games. Unfortunately, I was pretty much standing alone when it came to reason. My dear vassals thought six months after the Blight was just the right time to kick the king off the throne. There wasn't yet enough chaos, I suppose.

"Amaranthine has to wait," Mrs. Couldry decided. "This is a serious situation. It could lead to yet another civil war. You have to prevent it."

"Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure."

"We cannot just take out the nobles opposing you," Mrs. Couldry instructed me. "You don't have the strength to attack them. At the moment, I daresay more nobles stand against you than side with you. An open confrontation would be a disaster for this country."

"All right... so any advice on how I should possibly convince them I'm their man? Blast, I'm not even convinced myself!" I groaned, slumping down on the bed. Mrs. Couldry and Rori looked at each other. The old lady pressed her lips to a thin line. Rori burst into tears again. "I so won't like this, right? You've already jumped to a conclusion and I really so won't like it. Why is Rori crying?" Why didn't she allow me to comfort her? Why did she keep her distance? Maker's Breath! "Stop beating around the bush. What is all this about?"

"You need allies," Mrs. Couldry declared matter-of-factly. Like a miniature general, the tiny old lady occupied the armchair in front of the fireplace, tapping the arm rest with her ladle. "I suggest a marriage with Arl Wulff's daughter, Jane. Give Gwaren to Levi Dryden. I believe it's time for the Dryden family to be rehabilitated, wouldn't you agree, your Majesty?"

"Huh?" I had hardly listened to her. I had stopped paying attention after "a marriage with Arl Wulff's daughter, Jane". No surprise Rori was bawling her eyes out. No matter how often I had spelled it out for her, no matter how often she had acknowledged the difficulties of our relationship, in her heart Rori had always hoped I would be her fairytale prince. And I—though I kept denying it—had hoped for her to become my queen. One day in a better future. She was the woman I loved and I didn't want any other. Stupid, I know. But, well, I had a dream, you see, and it was turning into a nightmare. Last night after the disastrous encounter with Zevran, I had briefly tried to convince her to leave Ferelden, go on some diplomatic mission I had to make up in order to protect her. I wanted her out of the line of fire. Unsurprisingly, she had refused my request. She was as stubborn as a mule and as loyal as a Mabari. So, I had begged her to stay away from me, to keep her head down.

"I'm in too deep already. You made me Arlessa of Denerim. I cannot act as if I wasn't part of the political game. I am right there on the game board and I'd rather decide for myself if I was a pawn or the..." Defiantly she had met my eyes. "... well, any other... piece."

It was a shame, but it was neither her nor my decision. We were thrown onto the board randomly, fate dictating our position—and it certainly was no sucker for romance.

"I... no... I don't want to..." Absolutely I didn't want to break up with Rori, but I had to protect her at all costs. I couldn't see any other way and had dreaded the confrontation with her, knowing what I had to do, although it was the last thing I wanted... This seemed to become the motto of my life. I never got what I wanted. Now, Mrs. Couldry had done the dirty work for me already I was wavering between anger and relief. The little speech I had composed in mind had become obsolete. Mind you, it wasn't such a big loss. Mostly it was me putting my foot in my mouth. You know how I used to handle situations like that with deft brilliance. Thus, I was thankful for being spared to live through that utterly devastating situation. It had not been my words that made Rori cry. It hadn't been me to tear her heart to pieces. It was a no more but a small comfort.

Another decision being taken away from me made me downright angry, though. Yes, yes, I know, I keep whining about how I'd rather have others decide for me. That doesn't mean I'm always happy when I get confronted with such decisions. I guess I'm hard to please. I don't know.

"There's no other way, Alistair." Rori's voice cracked. She blew her nose, using one of her rainbow-colored striped socks she picked up from the floor. Mrs. Couldry's ladle-arm twitched but the poor girl was in such a miserable condition, the old elf abstained from whacking her. I myself was close to tears and quickly wiped my eyes when I thought nobody was watching. I stood there, rooted to the spot. Like the day I had broken up with Suri. I had marched in and held my speech while everything inside of me screamed at me to embrace and kiss her. It was the very same now, and again I couldn't make myself move. I mustn't.

"You need Wulff's support," Rori croaked when I didn't react, just stared. "Blast it, you need any support you can possibly get! We have to end... this... whatever we have... now." Tears streamed down her face. It was heartbreaking. I wanted to comfort her and whisper to her everything would be alright to reassure her and myself while I held her tight. I wanted to tell her I love her with all my heart—minus the part still reserved for Suri. Okay, I wouldn't have told her that. I'm not stupid. Not all the time. Holding out her hand to stop me Rori retreated, returning to staring out of the window. "Please, Alistair, it's the only way to keep you safe."

Funny. I had come here to protect her and now found myself protected by her. So not going as planned.

"I'm afraid more nobles are part of this conspiracy than we thought," Mrs. Couldry agreed. "One of my informers was found dead this morning. And I have lost contact to several others. There are no elven servants present during the investigation. At the moment we are blind and deaf—we do not know what our enemies' plan. The nobility was advised to leave them at home and to rely on the human staff. There are rumors you, your Majesty, are a half-blood in Orlais's service. They say you side with the elves to overthrow the human supremacy. They say you and Surana killed King Cailan and set the darkspawn onto Ferelden to weaken it. They say you plan alienages for humans. The rumors have reached the streets. Several elves have been attacked by angry citizens already."

"Oh come on! Nobody can possibly believe that nonsense!" I snorted. "This is ridiculous!"

"All you need is a talented demagogue to rile up the people. Especially in times like these," Rori muttered sadly. "We should stand together and help each other. Instead, men looking for their own profit incite the people to turn against each other. You've seen it happen during the Blight; it's happening now."

"Who?" I asked with deadly calm.

"Franderel."

"The pudding man!?" I laughed out loud. "Whenever he speaks his chins wobble like pudding," I explained when Rori and Mrs. Couldry blinked in confusion. "He is... so full of hatred—and of himself. His mum seems to have forgotten to teach him some manners. He shouts insults at anybody. He even dares to insult war heroes! During the siege of Denerim, Franderel wasn't even anywhere close to the battlefield! Health issues, he claimed. But he has the nerve to diminish the sacrifice and struggle of the soldiers by blaming them—and me—of deliberately and cowardly delaying the attack and thus being responsible for the fast destruction of the capital! He accused the Dalish of cursing the soldiers with their wild magic and striking them with fear. Oh, I could on and on. He's been going on and on for months, rubbish spilling from his mouth whenever he opens it. He is noisy but hardly ever says anything that makes any sense. And he lies like a trooper! He is my main opponent? Oh come on! That's a walk in the park—even for me!" Judging by the look on Rori's and Mrs. Couldry's faces, it was more like a walk in the Dead Trenches.

"People listen to him," Rori said unhappily.

"But... why?" It was totally beyond me.

"The Maker only knows, son," Mrs. Couldry sighed.

"Whoa! Wait a minute! You say, these measures—they are my only option? I need some time to let this sink in... I do not want to marry Jane. I barely know her!" And what I knew already wasn't thrilling me in the least. She was a nice, mousy woman. I had hardly talked to her while the bachelorettes occupied the castle. She just faded into the background while Rori... oh she was outstanding! "I have to talk to Rori first. I have to tell her..." I had to tell her how much I loved her. That I would love her for always and forever and would never forget her. That she was the wife of my dreams. I wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, ravishing, lovely. And funny! Oh boy, she made me laugh. She brought joy to my life! All that flowed into these three little words: I love you.

"She is informed about anything she has to know. This is not your choice anymore. Eamon has arranged a meeting with Wulff. He and Lady Jane should arrive at the throne room any moment," Mrs. Couldry cut me short, suffocating any attempt to speak to Rori in private.

"He did WHAT!? How could he without conferring with me on the matter?" I exploded.

"He did so on my advice." Mrs. Couldry lifted herself of the armchair to whack me with her ladle, silencing the stream of obscenities flooding for my mouth. "Language, son! Have faith in the Maker, he will guide you in these dark hours."

_  
*Zevran greets Alistair with "Hail, king (rex), the one who is about to die salutes you." referring to the famous greeting gladiators offered the emperor of Rome before fighting in the arena: "Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant" - "Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you."


	21. West Hill

Marika Haliwell - *blinks innocently* I really don't know what you mean... Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional... *coughs* ;) Thank you so very much for your review. I am glad you enjoy reading. And like Mrs. Couldry. She's a special old lady, haha.

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You know, that moment when I stood there in the throne hall and listened to my own voice sounding so dispatched from myself, so alien, announcing my engagement to Lady Jane Wulff of the Western Hills, the only thing I really longed to do was take Rori's hand and run. During my speech, during the whole welcome scene, even when Eamon put Jane's hand in mine as I failed to take it, I couldn't take my eyes off Rori. Misery was written all over her face, her eyes red and swollen from all the tears she shed. She mirrored what I wasn't allowed to display. I was screaming inside, crumbling. All the color that had returned to my life was drained from it again that moment I cast Rori out. I wished to wrap her in my arms and never let go; I wanted to leave all this trouble behind and for always and forever be with her.

But then I thought of Franderel and his gang. I recalled them spewing hatred whenever they opened their mouths. I had failed to pay attention to their verbal diarrhea. One, because I was mourning like the whole country did after the Blight that had cost us so much and all I wanted to do was lick my wounds. I wanted everything to be good and right and whole again like a little child. Two, because I couldn't imagine they really meant it or if they did, that anybody would take them seriously. Their contempt for elves knew no limits. They despised mages, foreigners, women. Sten would have agreed with many of the things they said, but the Qunari were cool and calculating in their strange logic—bereft of all sentiments. Their society is—as far as I understand, and when it comes to Qunari I hardly understand anything at all—a well-ordered construct that regards every member as a tiny cog in a huge clockwork. Franderel and his followers, however, were full of hateful venom. It seeped from their every pore. They didn't want any sort of order—even of the strange variety. They wanted nothing but chaos and they wanted it for their own benefit.

Funny thing is, I had provoked this eruption with my decisions. After the Blight when we all had fought together, united by the threat, I had thought it well-mannered to show some gratitude. Stupid, I know. All the elves and mages, commoners and peasants dying on the battlefield for Ferelden, for the sake of men—rich men mostly—that's what was expected of them. They were expendable and nobody missed them when they were gone. So, to declare the Circle free, give land to the Dalish, hand Amaranthine over to the Grey Wardens, strive to improve the lives of human citizens... it wasn't necessary in the eyes of the nobility that now followed and answered Franderel's cries. More than that, it obviously insulted those on top of the foodchain so much they found themselves threatened, misunderstood, insulted, abused...

You really don't have to understand all that. I don't understand it either.

Anyway, I just couldn't leave Ferelden to them without a fight. What I had in mind for this country, it wasn't exactly brilliant. A greater and wiser man could have done better for sure. But I was the only one available stepping up against what, in my opinion, was downright evil. I gave up my life for my kingdom—a kingdom I had never wanted—and I was pretty sure nobody would ever thank me for my sacrifice. I was the last man standing and it very much felt like being stranded in Flemeth's hut again. Minus Suri, of course. Even Morrigan as an ally suddenly sounded like something I'd welcome. Yeah, right, that was pure desperation talking. Her knowledge of fifteen different types of poisons could have come in handy. But she wasn't here. I was all alone.

So, I stayed where I was, dying inside while I put forth a pretty picture of the strong-willed monarch. I knew Rori stayed for the very same reason. We had come to a silent agreement that we had to make this sacrifice for Ferelden.

My future wife was as silent, shy, and mousy as she had been ever since I had first met her. I can't say I was in any way thrilled, but better her than Habren Bryland. I was probably quite rude to Jane when our engagement was declared. I just didn't care about her and she certainly didn't deserve that. It wasn't her fault. It was a political decision made for the sake of the kingdom. I didn't care to find out if she was happy with the arrangement. That moment I was so wrapped up in myself that all I could think about was Rori and the agony of losing her. Even Levi Dryden fainting when confronted with his new job as teyrn of Gwaren didn't disturb me. I was truly walking in the shadow of the valley of death.

As the nobles were already gathering at West Hill, I was glad when I could leave Denerim right after everything that needed settling was settled. I didn't get a chance to talk to Rori and really, what would I have said? I was feeling so down and devastated I doubt I would have had the strength to resist her. Sure, we had agreed on breaking up, but I felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I had to stay away from her. It was the only way. And it was killing me. Maker have mercy! I was so damn tired of this life.

So, first stop, Vigil's Keep: formerly the ancestral home of the Howe family, now the new headquarters of the Grey Wardens.

I still had a kingdom to rule no matter how much my personal life sucked. And I better make damn sure it didn't get overrun by darkspawn again. I sat on my horse, shoulders slumped, head hung low, taciturnly replying to Ser Rylock's endless rants. Just my luck. Of course I ran into the templar and her companions. Why wouldn't that happen? She was hunting down some runaway mage called Anders and her fellow templars had sent note they held him at Vigil's Keep, waiting for reinforcement. Lady luck smiles upon Alistair yet again. Her main complaint was how I handled the affairs with the Circle of Magi. Maker forbid! I really dared to treat them as human beings. Shame on me! I felt the urge to punch Rylock in the face but didn't have the energy. Confronted with so much hatred and heartlessness, there was nothing left for me but resignation. At least we got to kill some darkspawn and save a village on the way. The villagers' gratitude lasted for about ten seconds.

"What good does your rescue do us? We have nothing to eat. What good is surviving against the darkspawn if we're now sentenced to starving to death? Why don't the high and mighty help us? You sit in your palace and become fat, you don't care a lick about us," the major complained loudly.

Oh fun! A male Goldanna! Oh happy day!

Well... there had been this plan to import supplies since the harvest had been destroyed by war and the Blight but... there's always a but in politics, you see. You come up with an idea and you think: Now, that one is for the benefit of all people. Really nobody can argue against it. Haha. Silly Alistair. One can argue against anything. Like allocating funds to save people from starving. All the nobles usually get hopping mad when the king intermeddles with their business—unless, of course, it's about paying for something. Then very suddenly the king is financially liable for, well, anything. Long story short: The nobles of Ferelden didn't care much for some starving peasants and didn't care to waste their money on them. Instead, they blamed me for those suffering and dying because I had no money left to spend. Thanks a lot, Loghain!

Try explaining that to a bunch of angry peasants. They were fed up with the nobles telling them it was not their fault. They needed a scapegoat. Men like Franderel unscrupulously directed the anger and frustration of the people to turn against the elves, so I shouldn't have been surprised to find a family of elves strung up from a tree at the border of the village. The woman's skirt was torn and soaked in blood. I closed my eyes, muttering a silent prayer while I kept my teeth clenched. Anger, despair, frustration, regret, sorrow—a maelstrom of emotions surged through me. I couldn't let them erupt or I would have lost control...

Maker preserve me!

When asked about the elves' crime, the one they were hanged for, I was told they had stolen children to cook them. More likely the children had been kidnapped by the darkspawn, but again, there wouldn't see reason. And Maker, did I try! All I got for a response was obduracy—and a whole lot of the worst conspiracy theories I've ever heard. I don't know why people believe such nonsense. Everybody with at least a grain's worth of common sense should be able to see through it. I suspect they didn't want the truth; they just wanted someone to blame.

I was shocked and appalled by the cruelty, but nobody wanted to admit they murdered the elves and I couldn't possibly punish the whole village. I could have harmed someone innocent.

"Are you intending to leave them hanging there?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose, hoping beyond hope it would ease my splitting headache. The crows were already feasting on the dead. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't right. "Someone should at least bury them."

"It's a warning," the major grunted, defiantly crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Them knife-ears, they won't dare come for our children again."

"Oh for the love of Lady Andraste!" I muttered. "Someone hand me a shovel!" I could have left it that way. What did I care for some elves? They were dead already. But I thought of Suri, of Slim and Mrs. Couldry, of Shani and her lot having fought at our sides during the siege of Denerim—and I felt a pang of guilt. So, the king of Ferelden personally dug a grave and cut the dead off the tree. My guards hurried to help me—solely because that's what soldiers do when their king rolls up his sleeves—while Rylock sat on her horse and lectured me about my un-kingliness and inappropriate sympathy for the elves. "You know, I remember countless services at the monastery and the Revered Mother saying we are all equal in the eyes of the Maker," I snapped at her. "My mistake—I thought she was talking about every living creature. I didn't think humans had the market cornered on basic rights and decency."

Rylock's expression was one of stone, her lips pressed to a thin line as she stirred her horse away. 'As you sow, so you shall reap' her expression said. Right. West Hill could very well become as disastrous for me as it had been for my father.

Huh? What's so special about West Hill? Don't they teach you anything about history anymore these days? Betrayal had awaited Maric at West Hill and what should have been a glorious victory had almost become the end of the rebellion against the Orlesian usurper. West Hill ever since has become a synonym for a devastating defeat.

Anyway...

I left half of our supplies to the hungry and by now hopping mad villagers. The result of my good deed: My soldiers almost revolted because now they had less to eat and the villagers complained about the meager aims—not to mention my interference in their affairs.

"Oh, piss and spittle!" I cursed under my breath. Once more I wished Suri had made Anora queen. Ruling this country was like guarding a bag full of fleas without a free hand to scratch oneself.

Afterwards things got even better. We encountered more darkspawn—the best aggression-release therapy ever—more angry villagers, still more darkspawn... At least I can't complain about the journey being boring. And Rylock kept her mouth shut during the fights. And then finally, at the break of dawn, we arrived at Vigil's Keep. Corpses of darkspawn and men on the fields everywhere, gates wide open, corpses in the castle yard... Yep, Caron had everything under control. No need to worry. Ran like a well-oiled machine.

Okay, here we go, the King Alistair show!

"It looks like I arrived a bit too late. Too bad, I rather miss the whole darkspawn-killing thing." I droned in my unmatched kingliness as I strode through the broken gates. My little encounters with the brute were nothing worth mentioning compared to what happened here. At least Caron was alive and still kicking. So was Zevran. And... wait! Oghren! Ha! You know you're really desperate when you're glad to have Oghren aboard. "I wanted to come to give the Wardens a formal welcome." Translation: I wanted to make sure you haven't completely fucked up yet. "I certainly wasn't expecting this." Translation: You have completely fucked up. "What's the situation?" Translation: Do I even want to know?

"What darkspawn remained have fled, your Majesty. The Grey Wardens who have arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead or... missing," a grey-haired man replied.

Doom!

DOOM!

I was tempted to imitate the Chasind Suri and I had run into in front of the Lothering Chantry. 'The legions of evil have arrived on our doorsteps! They will feed on our hearts!' etc., etc. Blast! Why did everything have to be a sodding disaster? Okay, keep cool, Alistair. Act as if this was no big deal. All Grey Wardens from Orlais dead but Caron and his crew of losers. Been there, done that. What could possibly go wrong this time?

Well, things started to go wrong when I pissed off Rylock by allowing Caron to recruit the mage Anders, the one Rylock was to return to the tower—dead or alive. Afterwards she left in a huff, so maybe it wasn't that bad after all. Before I left, I forced Caron to accept Oghren as his second in command. Needless to say, he disapproved.

"Listen, I neither have the patience nor the time to argue with you. Oghren is a hero of the Fifth Blight and as it is, you are short of Wardens. They are all gone, your whole reinforcement. You're on your own and you'll have to make the best of it. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Or never.

More likely Amaranthine would become someone else's problem as things stood.

Next stop: West Hill!

Mrs. Couldry had chosen Jane Wulff for a reason. The gathering took place in my soon-to-be father-in-law's place, so calling him an ally certainly was an advantage on my side. My future wife greeted me with an armada of chaperones in tow, as if I couldn't control myself when left alone with a woman.

"Oh, hi," I muttered, hardly listening to what Jane had to say as I was busy ogling Rori at the far side of the court. Her brother and her uncle, Bann Angus Mac Eanraig, a hairy giant in a kilt and with a peg leg, were with her. I only cared to take notice of him because his huge form kept blocking Rori from my yearning glances. Her curly hair was tousled by the wind, her cheeks flushed prettily. She radiated a fierce determination and wore her defiance like the strongest armor. Only when she caught sight of me and our eyes met across the distance did her sadness and misery break through. She reigned it in quickly by breaking eye contact just like I should have done. Only when Lady Jane tugged my sleeve did I notice she had been talking to me.

"Um... sorry, I... I was distracted," I muttered.

"Undoubtedly," Jane answered sadly, casting her eyes down. "It has to be a huge sacrifice for you to marry me."

Oh blast!

"Err... well..." Lie, Alistair, lie. Say something nice and sweet and... "... it could be worse..." WHAT!? Fool! Maker! Why did I always have to put my foot in my mouth? "... Um... I mean... it could be Habren, right? And it's not... it's you and you aren't... like Habren... and... err... you are... nice..." The word 'nice' when said to a woman falls into the same category as the word 'cute' when said to a man. Kinda. It certainly isn't what a woman wants to hear when she is supposed to marry you. You gotta do better than 'nice' to impress her.

"It is a political marriage," Jane confirmed in her dreary voice. Oh, we were going to have so much fun together. "Come now, your Majesty, the nobles are already awaiting you."

They were all gathered in Wulff's great hall at two long tables at the opposite sides of the room. Considering the emotionally charged atmosphere, I doubted there was enough room there to ensure a peaceful meeting. And to make things even better they had dragged the Grand Cleric along as a neutral judge, the very same woman who had tried to prevent me from joining the Grey Wardens. Oh, she loved me. She held me and my abilities in such high esteem...

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

"Your Majesty," she greeted me coolly. I just stared at her in horror, mouth agape. "I have to admit you exceeded all my expectations."

"I did even worse than you thought? Wow. Now that certainly is a record-breaking performance."

To my utter surprise the Grand Cleric shook her head—and smiled! Creeeeeepy. I had never seen her smile before. She must have suffered quite a muscle ache afterwards. "I have to admit, Duncan might have been right about you after all. Your fate didn't lie with the templars. The Maker had different plans for you."

"Err... what?" I wiggled my finger in my ear.

"You understood me quite well, your Majesty. I do not approve of all your decisions, but you at least seem to seriously try to be a good monarch. That's more than one could ever say about you being a templar."

"There's so much at stake," I muttered, blushing violently. I felt like a ten-year-old again. Whoa! I had done something right in the eyes of the Grand Cleric.

"Nothing you could get done right," a nasty voice sneered from behind. I turned and found myself face to face with pudding man. "You are fake. A wimp like you cannot be Maric's son."

"We are here to investigate his heritage, Bann Franderel. I ask you now, will you accept my judgment at the end of this investigation?" the Grand Cleric cut Franderel short.

"Of course—when this fake king pays for his crimes and his head is cut off his shoulders like he murdered the Hero of the River Dane," Franderel droned.

"Err... and when I stay king then you won't?" I laughed without any amusement. "But that means there could be a civil war! We are here to prevent such a war. When you don't accept the outcome of the investigation that was your idea, what are we doing here at all? We could skip past this farce and go straight to bashing our heads in..."

"WARMONGERER!" Franderel screeched, spittle showering my face.

"But you just said you wouldn't..." I protested uselessly as Franderel's buddies had already joined in and made such a ruckus they drowned my voice in their hateful chant. Their opponents shouted back and before long the first mugs flew across the room, followed by boots, helmets and whatever else was in reach—and then Rori's cousin James Mac Eanraig climbed the table, lifted his kilt, and wagged his naked butt at the Franderels. "Talk to my ass, butt faces!" he roared.

The Blight had exsanguinated the noble houses of Ferelden. The young and strong, the sons and daughters, had died on the battlefield. What was left was an assembly of mostly old men and women. That, however, didn't stop them from starting a blasted brawl. Some hadn't fought with as much vigor when riding against the archdemon and the darkspawn horde. I dodged out of their way, finding myself pressed with my back against the wall. At the opposite wall, Franderel was caught in the very same position, too much a coward to enter the fray. That, however, didn't stop him from riling up his followers even more while I tried to restore order as unsuccessfully as the hopping mad and cornered Grand Cleric, threatening to bell, book, and candle everybody and their dogs.

Just when things became really nasty, the doors burst open and Wulff's mabaris came charging in, led by Rori and Jane. Like sheepdogs they separated the wranglers, forcing them to return behind the tables. The investigation was adjourned of course. And well, that was day one.

The next few days I was left speechless more often than I can count. And I can count pretty high. I banged my forehead against the table repeatedly so often I swear it got calloused. It is incredible what I got accused of. I mean, I thought I'd heard it all. That I killed Cailan to become king, that I am an Orlesian puppet, that I'm not Maric's son - all the nonsense already used against me during the Blight. But Franderel and his lot proved to be incredibly creative when it came to accusing me of things I had never done.

One of the highlights was when Franderel introduced a guy who claimed I wasn't a man, but rather an Orlesian woman called Alice who got magically turned into a man... Yeah, you laugh! I didn't feel much like laughing anymore. When the truth no longer matters and people start to believe any lies just because they fit into their world picture then there's nothing you can do about it. Whatever you say, they will call you a liar and a manipulator while they dance on the strings of their own chosen puppeteer to his symphony of lies.

Pretty soon, this wasn't solely about my heritage anymore. Everything about me was wrong. I couldn't even breathe without Franderel accusing me of stealing the air of the orderly citizens of Ferelden. Thanks to Mrs. Couldry, I knew Franderel had enough skeletons in his closet to run a tunnel of horror. But whenever I pointed out things like him not having paid any taxes to the crown for two decades, he was extremely quick to point out this wasn't about him but about me and the obvious fact that Maric wasn't my father.

At one point I really lost it. It was too much. I had fought to save this nation. I had lost Suri. I had given up Rori. I did the best I could for this country and this fat douchebag who had never cared about anybody but himself kept marking me as the scapegoat for things that hadn't even happened. "Oh bloddy blast it! I wish he wasn't my father! Then I wouldn't have to deal with you throatcutting sons of bitches and could happily slay darkspawn!"

"There! He admits he isn't Maric's son!" Franderel screeched.

"Fuck you!" I roared back. Not very kingly, I know. And certainly not wise. But I'd had about enough. I was in desperate need of a break—and a drink.

"Where are you going?" Franderel cried, his chins wobbling like jelly, when I just got up and left.

"I am going to get drunk," I informed him and walked out without looking back. I dumped all my kingly trappings, got my horse, and headed off towards the nearest pub in town. It smelled of cabbage, shale ale and sweat, a place reeking of despair and hoplessness. Perfect. I went straight to the bar, ignoring the greasy looks of both the barman and the glasses, ordered two shots of whiskey and downed them one after another, ordering the next round before I set the glass back down again.

"It's never as bad as it seems, lad," a familiar voice croaked next to me.

"Nope," I agreed gloomily. "It's worse. And what are you doing here anyway?"

"I am waiting for someone, but that someone isn't you," Mrs. Couldry answered secretively.

I was too busy whining to care, though. "They are picking me apart. It's nothing but lies. Big fat lies so absurd I never would have thought anybody could possibly believe them! But they do! Even the Grand Cleric!"

"Franderel bribed her," Mrs. Couldry said as if she was making a remark about the weather.

"WHAT!?" I spat my drink right across the bar. "But... why?... how? This is a catastrophe!"

"The final chapter has not yet been written," Mrs. Couldry chuckled. "You worry too much, son."

"Yeah? You can talk! It's not your blood they bay for," I complained sullenly. Maybe this was the right time after all to get Rori and do the Orlesian leave.

"Franderel owns the Tears of Andraste. He had them stolen from the Chantry some time ago for his own private collection."

I groaned loudly and ordered a whole dozen shots, arranging them all in a neat line. "Let me guess, he will return them for a favor." I growled.

"That's his plan. Too bad it won't work," Mrs. Couldry chortled. She started to pour out my drinks, I started to pour them down. In the end it was 8:4 for Mrs. Couldry.

"Hey!"

"The demon alcohol will be your death, son!"

"It has to wait in line," I pouted. "There are so many wanting me dead I doubt the demon alcohol will get anywhere close to completing its mission."

BANG! BANG! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. "Stop being so pessimistic," Mrs. Couldry lectured me. "It's about time to take off the velvet gloves and fight fire with fire."

"Huh? Sorry, I'm somewhat lost..."

And that's when Rori appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Alright, she just walked into the pub, but when you have your head down over your booze you don't see much more than your own misery staring back at you.

"Ro-rori...," I breathed. "Err... What are you doing here?" I smiled sheepishly at her, staggering towards her. Only Mrs. Couldry's ladle blocking my way like a toll bar stopped me from doing something stupid like embracing and kissing her. Rori ran into the very same barrier. So close and yet unattainable... "Wait! You're meeting with Mrs. Couldry! Whoa! I won't like this, will I?"

I didn't like it. Not at all.

During the Blight, Slim got hold of plans of Franderel's estate in Denerim and the whereabouts of the tears. He never got the chance to break in, though, with all the darkspawn everywhere. After the defeat of the archdemon, his priorities lay elsewhere. But now was the time for using Slim's knowledge post mortem. Mrs. Couldry planned to break into Franderel's house and steal the tears—and guess who was to be on her team.

"No!" I growled.

"Yes," Mrs. Couldry and Rori insisted.

"It's the only chance we still have," Rori insisted and I hated to admit it, but she was right.

"Don't you have someone else to go with you?" I complained, my voice croaked with the effort of suppressed panic. I didn't want Rori anywhere in the front lines where I couldn't protect her. Maker, Alistair, who are you trying to fool? You couldn't protect her anyway. And still I stubbornly tried. I just had to.

"Someone trustworthy?" Mrs. Couldry shot back.

"Maker help me!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

"The Maker helps those who help themselves," Mrs. Couldry retorted.


	22. DOOOOMsday

Sorry, this took quite some time to write. I hope the next one won't take as long. Thank you so much for reading.

Marika Haliwell - Geez! Just how do you know such things ;) Love you, too. Hope you enjoy this one.

doristhechanger - Oh, I won't stop. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you like this one.

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22\. The Point of No Return

My heart heavy with dolor, I stared out of the window of Lady Jane's bower, my reflection staring back at me pale and hollow-eyed. The last weeks had taken their toll and I couldn't get rid of the feeling of being caught in a maelstrom. Even now when I was invited for tea, my cup resting on the small table between my betrothed and me untouched, I couldn't relax. Next to the door, a chaperone had dozed off in her armchair, her knitting had slipped off her lap. Jane exertedly tried to make conversation, a one-sided affair as I failed to take part. My brow furrowed, my eyes fixed on the gate at the far side of the court; I was occupied with my troubled mind.

One week since Mrs. Couldry had taken Rori with her. One week without a word. The plan Mrs. Couldry had introduced to Rori and me had been quite simple: Both women would enter Franderel's estate as members of the kitchen staff—jobs they had acquired thanks to Mrs. Couldry's contacts. We all knew they had to act quickly afterwards. One because I was running out of time; two because Rori couldn't last five minutes in a kitchen without giving away her complete inability to master any kind of chores. And all Mrs. Couldry offered when asked how they intended to get past the soldiers guarding the premises was: "Time will tell, son."

Next to being worried out of my mind about Rori... What? Worried about Mrs. Couldry? Not a bit! Bad weeds grow tall! But Rori... Maker watch over her! I couldn't even endure the mere thought of losing her.

Anyway, Rori wasn't the only reason for losing sleep. There was Franderel and his absurd accusations of course, and the Grand Cleric showing she was clearly tempted to side with him. And the cherry on top was Warden Commander Carron's decision to take the children of Amaranthine nobles hostage because he had heard through the grapevine that some nobles planned to have him assassinated. His way to handle the threat was to threaten them in return. Of course, Franderel mercilessly used this incident against me, and I had a whole lot of hopping mad parents amongst the nobility suddenly deciding to join Franderel because of course, I was responsible for Caron, the Orlesian peacock I had invited to rule one of the wealthiest Arlings of Ferelden.

Doom!

DOOM!

I was formulating a letter in my mind telling Caron to set the children free and deal with the matter in a less drastic way. I was seething with anger, worried out of my mind for the children, and kept ending up with: SET THEM FREE, YOU SODDING SON OF A BITCH OR I'LL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THE ASSASSIN WILL FIND HIMSELF UNEMPLOYED!

Oh I wished I could ride to Vigil's Keep and kick Caron's ass all the way back to Orlais, but I was stuck here in a matchlessly absurd political game. I was grimly fantasizing about shoving Caron into the Deep Trenches—and Franderel and his whole lot—when Jane's monotone voice suddenly took on an urgent tone that finally caught my attention.

"Your Majesty," she gasped distraughtedly, setting her cup down to wring her hands instead. Confusion, sadness, despair all written over her normaly expressionless face. "Would you like it better if I... wore fancier dresses? Maybe I could do something with my hair..." Unhappily she pulled at a strand of her mousy brown hair.

Oh blast!

"No, no, Jane, you don't have to change who you are for me!" I exclaimed, giving Jane my undivided attention—for the first time ever since I met her. Of course, I knew she was unhappy. She was following me around like a kicked puppy, but with Franderel breathing down my neck and Rori gone, with Caron starting a bloody vendetta, Jane didn't even appear on my to-worry-about-list.

"You do not love me," Jane observed, tears welling from her eyes.

I was taken aback by her question. I knew nothing about my future wife except that she blended in perfectly with her silent manner and unspectacular looks. She was no one to take notice of. She had never given me the slightest hint that she was feeling anything for me at all. To me, she seemed an obedient pawn of her father's political game. She would have married an ogre without complaint if it had suited Arl Wulff's goals. "Well, do you love me?" I retorted defiantly.

"It's a wife's purpose in life to love and serve her husband," Jane answered stiffly.

"That's not what love is about!" I protested.

"So, you know everything about love, don't you?" Jane asked angrily. It was the first time ever she showed any emotion apart from her silent endurance. It suited her quite well.

"Not everything, no. But I know what love feels like for me." Ever since Rori and I had broken up, I had locked my emotions away. I had buried my own heart, built strong walls around it to suffocate my feelings for Rori. But now, when I tried to find the words to explain my emotions to Jane, the walls came crumbling down and I found myself overwhelmed by the purity and strength of my love. Grinning stupidly, my voice trembling with emotion, I went on: "Love makes me as light as a feather, I feel like floating and whenever I think of the person I love, I grin like a fool because my heart is flooded with so much warmth I want to jubiliate and sing and dance and tell the whole world how wonderful and ravishing, how amazing and adorable my love is." I paused, grinning from ear to ear as Rori's image poped up in my mind, her bubling laughter, the sparkle in her dark blue eyes, the myriad of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks, the chaotic mess of curls, framing her lovely face... "When she is with me all my sorrows and pain fade. She chases the shadows away and brings light and color to my life..."

"You are right. Neither do you love me nor I you," Jane interrupted sharply. She bit her lips, staring at me gloomily for a moment.

"Forgive me. It was inappropriate to mention my... err... my... um..." Maker, how did I always manage to put my foot in my mouth, boot and everything?

"Your mistress?" Jane offered coolly.

"We've broken up before you and I got engaged," I said lamely.

"But you still love her?"

"Believe it or not, I cannot switch my emotions off as though snuffing out a candle," I huffed defiantly.

"I suppose I should be grateful for your honesty." Jane sounded hurt and rather offended. "Well, you aren't the only one with a secret passion!" I didn't ask what hers was, much to Jane's dismay. I was sick and tired of playing games. With angry little sips she drank her tea, glowering at me over the rim of the cup before setting it down forcefully. Then she opened her mouth, closed it again, cast a scared look at the sleeping chaperone and finally, when she had made up her mind, bent forward, murmuring: "Can you keep a secret?"

Oh, now that was unexpected.

"My lips are sealed," I promised, realizing how lonely and desperate she had to be when she chose me out of all people to confess to.

"To be honest," she whispered hoarsely, her eyes darting towards the snoring chaperone at the door once more. "I don't even want to marry you—or anybody else." Shocked by her own bluntness, she bit her lips, strictly looking at the empty cup she kept turning in her hands. "I appologize, your Majesty. I didn't mean to insult you."

"No offense taken." I chuckled. So she wasn't as servile and obedient as she wanted everybody to believe. Good for her. "Anyway, if Franderel wins, there won't be a marriage for you to worry about," I muttered.

"He won't win," Jane said.

"I wish I had your confidence."

"The Grand Cleric is a wise woman. She is immune to his lies," Jane preached.

Not to his bribery, though. Tonight—tonight the Grand Cleric would decide my fate. It was a matter of life and death. I wondered if Jane realized the danger I was in and that she would have to desert the sinking ship as quickly as she had boarded it, just in case.

"Then what do you want to do?" I asked, smiling reassuringly at Jane when she stared at me, her expression wavering between embarrassement, fear, and the impulse to confess her dreams to the stranger that was meant to become her husband.

"I... I want to become a scholar!" she finally gasped, leaning across the table in a conspiratory manner. Her eyes glittered with excitement. "I want to study and read and discover secrets. I want to gain knowledge and explore the world... or at least explore Haven." She blushed when confronted with my undisguised amusement. "Yes, I know, it is very silly..."

"Not at all! Jane, I do not laugh at you. Your dreams aren't silly at all." Actually I was glad to find there was some livliness inside of her, that she wasn't just the puppet she seemed to be. "And you could still be a scholar as queen."

"Seriously?" Jane exclaimed giddily, her cheeks flushed. She was actually rather pretty when she didn't wear a face as long as a fiddle. She wasn't a classic beauty, her nose was too long, her jaw too strong and broad. A bit of soulfulness, however, worked like magic. She seemed like a different person.

"Sure, why not?"

"I've never thought it would be possible!" Jane cheered. "Brother Genitivi chose me for his new apprentice!" she added with pride. "I've lived at the chantry ever since my mother died," she offered as an explanation. "I would have happily spent my life there. It was so peaceful."

I groaned. Peaceful, yeah. You could also call it incredibly boring. "It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?"

Jane frowned at me disapprovingly. "That was very childish behaviour," she scolded me.

I shrugged. "The look on their face was always priceless." Jane's sour expression wasn't as amusing. "Anyway, no need to give up your dreams just because you're going to be loaded with me for the rest of your life."

"It is an honour to be chosen as your wife," Jane answered stiffly and the moment when I had been allowed to glimpse the real Jane was gone. She returned to acting acoording to the script her father had indoctrinated her with. At least she had realized that marrying me wasn't the end of the life she wanted to live. It was a relief for me, too. I wouldn't have wanted her to be unhappy. It was one less thing to worry about. The list still was endless, the pressure overwhelming.

"Yeah, whatever." I returned to staring out of the window and to my gloomy thoughts. I could feel Jane's eyes on me, regarding me thoughtfully. It made me squirm uncomfortably. "What?" I snapped unnervedly.

"But what about your dreams?" she asked with more concern than I deserved.

"Kings don't have dreams, it seems. They have nightmares." The hopelessness of my voice made me shudder. Teagan had told me how troubled my father had been about being king. It seemed I had more in common with him than I had ever expected. And yet people referred to him as Maric the Great.

"You are a good man. A good king," Jane said softly as if she had read my thoughts.

I pressed my lips to a thin line to stiffle a bitter laugh. Jane certainly deserved better than me. I could have tried but my heart belonged to someone else and I didn't have anymore strength left to pretend. "You have no reason to say so."

"You listened to me." Jane explained. "And you don't tell me what to do. You don't laugh about my dreams. I've felt so lonely and sad and desperate ever since I left the monastery..."

"It seems we have more in common than I thought. Two more and we can start a quartet and call it The Lonely Hearts Club Band," I quipped. Jane frowned at me in confusion. "That was a joke."

"Oh," Jane said without amusement. "I do not understand. What's funny about it?"

SIGH.

Before I found myself forced to explain my admittedly rather lame joke, Bann Alfstanna burst through the door and startled the snoring chaperone out of her sleep and into hysterics.

"Your Majesty!" Bann Alfstanna cried, almost as hysterical as the chaperone. "Finally I found you! Franderel called for a meeting. He claims he has highly volatile information about you that will eliminate your claim to the throne, no matter your heritage! Everybody's already gathered in the great hall!"

"Blast!" I muttered. Franderel obviously had no intention to wait until tonight. Did he know my allies were trying to compromise him? Or was this just another outburst of his uncontrollable temper? Whatever the reason, I was in deep shit trouble. I had nothing to counter his attack without the evidence Mrs. Couldry was supposed to equip me with. Plan B? I didn't have a plan B. And the ladle-swinging bard was nowhere to be seen.

Doom!

DOOM!

"What kind of information?" I demanded to know as I hurried after Alfstanna, Jane following on our heels. She couldn't say, but the smug grin Franderel greeted me with when I burst into the room bode ill—as did the fact that the doors were shut and locked at my back. I made out Franderel's soldiers at all tactically critical spots in the hall. It was a trap, and I had walked right into it. There was no escape. This was it. The final confrontation.

"The puppet king finally graces us with his presence," Franderel sneered, his nasty voice raising above the chaotic ruckus of the pugnacious nobles. I had no clue what Franderel had up his sleeve, and by the look on Teagan's face, he didn't know either—and he was worried. It could have been nothing but a whole lot of rather smelly hot air. It could have been a mighty fat explosion. Whatever Franderel had planned, I wasn't meant to leave this room alive. Well, I wasn't too concerned about a fight. Others had planned to murder me before, and I could already see my allies preparing for the danger they, too, had recognized. I just prayed Franderel's sneer had nothing to do with Rori. Everything but losing her I could handle. Believe it or not, in spite of everything, I managed to keep my expression under control so that my worries and fears did not shine through. I am just a natural talent when it comes to looking stupid and clueless.

"Meetings with the nobility of Ferelden about the future of this beautiful nation seem to be of no importance to him," Franderel bleated. He was standing so close to the Grand Cleric that he made her quite uncomfortable. But whenever she inched away, he would follow. Yeaaaah, right. In case of a fight, hide behind the priestess—it is highly unlikely she would become the target of violence... "Once I am king, it will always be Ferelden first..."

"You mean like when you stayed home during the siege of Denerim?" I dead-panned and was rewarded with one of Franderel's infamous tantrums at once. That guy had absolutely no sense of humor.

"Liar! Total loser! You're a fake!" Franderel trumpeted. "This kingdom needs a real man for a king—not some impotent wannabe!"

"We're not talking about the size of your hands and what this tells us about the size of your private parts again, are we?" I groaned in exasperation. What was wrong with this man that he felt it necessary to point out he had a large penis over and over again? He for sure was a huge dick, I gave him that much.

"This..." Franderel looked me up and down, contempt and disgust all written over his fat face. "... this IT. That is no man; it cannot have an heir. It lacks what it takes to be a man..."

"Whoa! We've already discussed this and NO! I am not a magically altered woman called Alice. And NO! I am not going to show you my... um... manly parts!" I snapped, rolling my eyes.

"There's not much there to show anyway," Franderel sneered, his two chins wobbling as he laughed.

"That's it? That's what you have brought us here for? The old 'he is no man' nonsense again?" Teagan growled.

"I make for quite a pretty queen," I grinned. "I'd even put on a dress. But it would have to be a pretty one."

"Come to the point, Bann Franderel," the Grand Cleric said icily, once again trying to shake Franderel off by putting me in between him and her. The bann followed and found himself blocked and face to face with me—and I was for sure the very last person he wanted to be close to.

"As I said, it cannot have an heir," Franderel shrieked, showering me with spittle and malice, his face red, bloated and glistening with sweat. "This nation does not need a king too weak to sire an heir. The Theirin line will end with this... thing. It lost its maleness when it became a Grey Warden. Grey Wardens cannot have children. With a Grey Warden king, the kingdom will find itself bereft of a leader after his death. We want stability—not yet another civil war over power. This is a dead end!"

Oh fuck!

FUCK!

"Is this true?" the Grand Cleric said sharply across my shoulder. "Your Majesty?"

"Err... well... actually..." Blast! Where did Franderel get that piece of information? It was one of the things the Grey Wardens kept secret. The shouts and sneers, the heckling and boos... it had all died down. You could have heard a pin drop while I stood there in the middle of the crowd with everybody's eyes on me. I looked around at expectant faces, their expressions wavering between fear and hope, contempt, victory and defeat.

"There are Grey Wardens known to have children after their Joining but it is a rare occasion," I admitted truthfully. "So indeed it is difficult for a Grey Warden to have an heir..."

"He admits it!" Franderel hopped around gleefully, clapping his fat hands. "He admits it! He's impotent! He cannot be king!"

"I did say no such thing! I said..." Not that anybody listened to me any longer.

"LONG LIVE KING FRANDEREL!" someone from among the crowd shouted, his cry echoed by many throats.

Franderel threw his arms up in a gesture of victory, his followers cheered, the royalists shouted their protests, the Grand Cleric called for silence, I was caught in a maelstrom of disbelief, shock and defiance—and then with a loud CRASH, the huge double doors were unhinged.

A huge creature, almost as broad as it was long, grey, and massive stomped in, followed by a wrinkled white haired mage with shining blue eyes.

"Oh, I hope we do not crash a party," the old lady chuckled. "You can all calm down; we mean no harm. I'm afraid the door stuck," she added nonchalantly when Franderel threw a fit about the destroyed door as if this were his castle, not Wulff's. "Alistair, my dear boy, it is so good to see you again." Ignoring the hopping mad bann, the old lady gave me a motherly hug—and pinched my cheek.

"It is in trouble," the massive creature observed as soon as it caught sight of me, its booming voice easily drowning out the startled cries of the assembled nobles "Is anyone surprised? Anyone?" It thankfully did not hug or pinch me.

"Wynne!" I laughed with heart-felt relief. "Shale! What are you doing here? I mean, I'm glad you're here but how? ...Why?"

"I thought you could use some extra support." Rori emerged from behind the golem.

"Rori!" I gasped, grinning foolishly at her. "Where have you been so long? What have you done?" I had so many questions and none could be answered right away while everybody and their dog was eavesdropping.

"Believe me, I've got some really good stories to tell and you will hear them all in time," Rori grinned. Maker's Breath! Her beaming smile was like a ray of light in the darkness. Despite the quite hopeless situation, I now felt myself inspired with confidence—until Franderel shrieked and hopped up and down like Rumplestiltskin: "I am king! I am king! This loser cannot be king! He's not even a man! I am a real man! I have..."

"Oh dear! Not the big hands thing again," Rori groaned.

"HE'S IMPOTENT! HE'S NOT A MAN! HE CANNOT HAVE AN HEIR!" Franderel screamed at the top of his voice, his face bright red, his hair a terrible mess wavering around on his fat head.

"Hang him!" voices rang from the crowd. "Kill him!" Others roared: "Justice for Loghain!"

The yelling stopped when Shale mused aloud: "I feel an overwhelming urge to crush some skulls like grapes."

"The kingdom needs stability. A king who cannot sire an heir..." The Grand Cleric said into the silence.

"Blast," Rori muttered under her breath. "That probably means Mrs. C's friend couldn't gag Commander Caron before he could spill the beans."

"Caron!" I breathed. "But he's a Grey Warden!"

"One with a shitload of gambling debts," Rori added.

"Fuck!" I groaned.

"Don't worry," Rori reassured me, but she didn't look too happy. "Nothing is lost. I didn't mean to spill the beans in public. I wanted to talk to you first. I guess, it's not possible now Mrs. C failed to keep the lid on your secrets."

"So you have a plan B? I won't like it, will I? What is it?"

"Um... oh well... you know... Alistair, the thing about the spirits of the Fade and how they... you know... err..."

Meanwhile Franderel's ranting and raving about my manliness had not stopped. But even he had to breathe once in a while. That's when Wynne took her chance to step in for me while Rori still hemmed and hawed and I got more and more confused with every minute passing.

And where in the name of the Maker was Mrs. Couldry!?

"Alistair is a good man. He can be a good king. He could change the world and make it a better place," Wynne interfered calmly, a voice of reason in a world gone crazy. She hadn't yet learnt that reason was a blunt blade when truth didn't matter anymore. "History has taught us many times that an heir is not a guarantee for stability."

"We have to make Ferelden great again!" Franderel roared. "We need a real man..."

"Alistair is a real man! He has no such problems!" Rori gave up on breaking the news gently to me. I was still clueless, but at least Rori seemed to know what she was doing. Her fists clenched at her sides, defiance written al over her face, her stance unwavering, her chin stretched forward, she stepped forward, challenging the ranting bann. "I know...," she declared, her voice clear and proud. "... because... because I am pregnant and Alistair is the baby's father!"

Doom!

DOOM!

"WHAT!?" I squeaked into the dead silence that followed her confession.

"I really wanted to tell you, but..." Rori shrugged helplessly, offering a sheepish grin.

"Maker! Rori!" I gasped while the Grand Cleric demanded to know: "Is it true?" I looked from Rori to the Grand Cleric to Franderel and felt awfully dizzy. Maker preserve me! Didn't this brave, silly girl realize she had just signed her own death sentence? Franderel would never allow her to live, not with a possible Theirin heir in her womb that could become a threat to his claim on the throne. If he won, I died—and Rori would die with me. But she stood there and insisted I had impregnated her... Maker! Didn't she see the danger she was in?

"Is it true?" the Grand Cleric repeated.

"She is pregnant," Wynne confirmed.

"Yes, but did His Majesty sire the child?"

And spotlight on King Alistair.

"It... I... um... er..." I stammered. What should I do? There was no way to communicate with Rori. I tried to catch her attention by wiggling my eyebrows, coughing, pulling faces but all I got in return was her staring at me with fierce determination. I couldn't let her down. And I couldn't let her doom herself and the baby.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

"Well?" the Grand Cleric asked impatiently.

"I am. I am the father of the baby." I blurted out, hoping beyond hope I hadn't sealed Rori's fate with my confession.

"It is not a legitimate heir!" Wulff shouted same time Franderel screamed "Liar!" his face as red as a tomato. "She's a whore! She's like a bitch in heat! She's a crazy nympho! Anybody could be the father of her baby. It could be some mongrel, street scum. She fucked the murderer of her parents..."

At that point, Rori, her brother Fergus, and uncle Angus—all hopping mad and seething with fury—roared "Duel!" in unison. Fergus took off his gauntlet to throw it down in front of Franderel, but Rori snatched it from his hands and instead slapped Franderel hard across the face with all the strength she could muster. Blood spluttered from Franderel's nose, he squeaked like a pig, scrambled backwards to hide behind the broad-shouldered knights supporting him and from a safe distance, with his hand pressed against his bleeding nose, he shrieked: "Duel to the death!"

"With the greatest pleasure," Rori hissed, flexing her fingers like claws. "I take it you are not man enough to fight for yourself?"

"I won't stoop so low as to duel scum like you personally," Franderel snorted with utmost arrogance. "Alwin Ceorlic will fight for me!" Franderel shoved one of the knights forward, Bann Ceorlic's eldest son, a formidable swordsman. Rori just grinned nastily and lept forward as quick as a lightning. Franderel shrieked and scrambled backwards, stumbling over his own feet in his hasty retreat, his fat face contorted with fear—and Rori hadn't even touched him. She used her momentum, turning her dash into a graceful pirouette, flic-flaced back to her original position and flipped Franderel the bird on landing.

"Bitch!" Franderel spat, showering everybody close by with spittle. "Stop laughing! Stop laughing at me!" he screamed at the crowd while some of his supporters pulled him back to his feet. "You sons of bitches! Dogs! Traitors! I will ruin you! I will make sure your names get erased from history..."

Charming

"You exceed all my expectations, Bann Franderel," Rori said grimly. "So much for stooping to never before seen lows." There she was, five feet and three inches of pure, tremendous girl power, having Franderel tremble with fear. "All bark and no bite. Spite and malice, but no grandeur. You better step back, Franderel. We wouldn't want you to get accidentally hurt while a little girl beats the shit out of your bully."

"You don't intend to fight yourself, do you?" Fergus was shocked by the mere thought.

"Of course I do!" Rori growled.

"No way, young lady!" her uncle droned, shoving her to the background.

"I will represent Lady Rori," I announced quickly, stepping forward into the circle formed by the spectators while Rori was still arguing with her brother and uncle who should stomp Franderel's representative into the ground.

"I can very well fight for myself," Rori snapped in a huff.

"I know," I said with a soothing smile. "I do not doubt your skills, Puck. But you are with child. Your mission is to protect the baby. And my mission is to protect both of you."

My declaration was rewarded with a warm, loving smile from Rori and some Awwws from the present ladies. Arl Wulff wasn't impressed, though. Quite the contrary. "How dare you! This is a defamation I will not tolerate! Jane is your betrothed and you defile her by defending this whore! I will not support you any longer..."

"Father! Shut up!" Jane snapped, her face glowing with anger. She pulled her father away from me as he began to shove me.

"Jane! This is no way to talk to your father!" Wulff complained, shocked to find his obedient daughter to have turned into a seething valkyrie. "I am your father and I know what is best for you..."

"No, you don't! And I won't have it any longer!" Jane exploded. "Stop conditioning your support for Alistair on our marriage! You cannot seriously side with Franderel just for your own personal profit! The outcome of this trial is too important for Ferelden to base your loyalities on you bearing a grudge!" Turning from her slack-jawed father to me, she added: "King Alistair, my prayers are with you."

"Save your breath. The Maker himself couldn't help him anymore," Franderel sneered. He was in high spirits. No surprise as he had Ceolic to put his head on the block for him. If I won, Ceolic died in place of Franderel. If Ceolic won... well, you get the picture. The pudding man took no risk while I risked everything. "Kill him! Kill him!" Franderel cheered his duelist on and his followers joined in the chant.

What? Yeah, sure, I could have let Rori's brother or uncle fight for her. Teagan would have volunteered, too. It would have been easy for me to push someone else to the front, but then I wouldn't have been any better than Franderel. Just because Rori and I claimed I was the father of her baby didn't mean anybody had to believe us. Franderel had called me a liar so often, had told them so many fake stories about me, that I had to show them that I was the honorable one—the brave, the honest guy. It was time for a little less conversation and a little more action.

Ser Alwin didn't take my hand when I held it out for him to shake before the duel. Instead, he attacked right away, wielding his sword like an axe. The blade ripped the sleeve of my shirt when I threw myself sideways in the last nick of time and crashed onto the ground. And there it was... During this brief moment when I lifted my head right before I jumped back to my feet I glimpsed the very last creature I had expected to meet here. It was the size of a small dog. It had the ears of a rabbit, the snout of a pig and it wore a red hand-knit pullover. I only saw it for the blink of an eye but I could have sworn it scurried after the Grand Cleric being led away by a tiny old elf with a ladle sticking in the band of her apron...

"Schmooples?" No time to wonder about the nug. Alwin's sword collided with the stone floor, slicing a wisp off hair of my head as I rolled away and hauled myself off the ground. Spinning around I blocked Alwin's next strike, launched into a riposte and with a whirl of quick blows forced the knight to retreat.

Franderel's man was riled up by the scrupulous lies and false promises of his master. Blinded by his own hatred and consumed by his envy, he fought with brutal force, putting all his strength into each of his blows.

My own incentive was to protect the woman I loved and our unborn baby. In addition, I had to save a kingdom from falling into the hands of a complete lunatic. Oh, yes, and of course I also wanted to stay alive.

Ser Alwin had caught me napping when he had attacked me without going through the formal rites of a duel. His buddies were already celebrating my defeat. It was for his advantage, but it soon turned out I was the more experienced swordsman. He grew tired quickly and that's when the wraith of the just came upon him in form of King Alistair Theirin, the one and only rightful king of Ferelden! I dodged most of his blows, danced around him to avoid the confrontation, searching for one opening in his defense. This wasn't how templars usually fought; it was a type of fencing I had learned when sparring with Leliana and Zevran during the Blight, and with Rori afterwards. Experience—that's what you get for broadening your horizons.

"You fight like a little girl!" Alwin bellowed when again I evaded his attack.

"You haven't seen many girls fight, have you?" I laughed. "They'd kick your sorry ass."

With a loud roar of fury, Alwin lunged forward—and past me when I sidestepped and slammed my sword at his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. Wielding my shield, I knocked him off his feet, his head colliding hard with the stone floor, the impact knocking Alwin out instantly.

Yeah! Eat that!

"Now that this is settled..." I sheathed my sword, stepping away from the unconscious knight.

"It's a duel to the death! It's not over yet!" Franderel shrieked from the back rows.

"Alwin is knocked out. The fight is over. I won't murder a helpless man," I informed him.

"You're not man enough to kill him!" Franderel sneered.

"And you're not man enough to take his place," I snapped angrily.

"It's not over! You back out of the fight! You lose! Scumbag!" Franderel shrieked, unaware of most of his followers having fallen silent. Some even stepped away from their so called leader.

"Bann Franderel! Behave yourself!" the Grand Cleric ordered sharply on reentering the hall with Leliana at her side. WOOT! The Nightingale was in the house. Rumors had it she was on friendly terms with the Divine. There was no better choice than her to break the news about the fake tears and Franderel's manipulative intrigues to the Grand Cleric.

Wynne, Shale, Leliana—Mrs. Couldry had sent the cavalry to save me. Sweet. Grinning from ear to ear, I waved at Leliana and she winked in return. I suspect she found all this very entertaining after months in the Deep Roads hunting broodmothers. She must have returned only recently. Luck, for once, was on my side.

But Franderel in no way was capable to behave himself. He kept blurting out insults and conspiracy theories, a chaotic mess of pure nonesense. "He's not even Maric's son. He's probably not even a man. For all we know he could be a magically turned woman from Orlais. Whoever this Cousland bitch slept with..."

Blah blah fucking blah.

"Oh, let me crush the head of this annoying wobbly thing already," Shale snorted disgustedly. "It would save us all a lot of trouble."

"It would, wouldn't it?" I sighed. It was tempting for sure, but I had to decline the golem's offer. I needed this investigation to end with the Grand Cleric's judgment. It was my only hope to prevent another civil war.

"Enough!" the Grand Cleric finally barked. "I am ready to make my judgment now..."

During the last week, the Grand Cleric's behaviour towards Franderel had been alarmingly benevolent. He hadn't mentioned the tears, but had openly promised Amaranthine to the Chantry. He had never kept his opinion to himself about how to deal with the mages—"Lock them in. All of them. They act out of line, make them tranquil. Zero tolerance, there's going to be zero tolerance."—or with the Dalish—"They steal our land. They have no right to be here. Drive them all out." He had made suggestive remarks about the priestesses and sisters in the Grand Cleric's company and about any other "fuckable" woman—his words, not mine. He really had made it quite clear what kind of king he intended to be—and still, the Grand Cleric had smiled at him and nodded like a blasted nodding dog. No wonder Franderel thought he had her assimilated, and now all of a sudden he found she wasn't the brainless minion he expected her to be. She even dared to talk back! It was quite a shock for him.

"But we have a deal!" he sulked like a spoiled brat.

"I really don't know where you got that idea from," the Grand Cleric said icily.

"We came to an agreement that you would make me king..." Franderel insisted stubbornly.

"So, you admit you tried to bribe the Grand Cleric. How dare you! And now you even try to shake her believablity! You don't expect us to believe a woman as noble and honourable as her would stoop so low as to make a deal with you! That's just ridiculous!" I exclaimed with as much indignance as I could muster when I knew the Grand Cleric did exactly as Franderel said. It was one of the rare occasions he didn't lie. Instead, now I was the one straining the truth. I'm not a good liar. I become flustered and nervous and my ears glow whenever I lie. But I couldn't have the whole assembly know that the Grand Cleric was open to bribery. Her unchallenged judgment was the only way to prevent another civil war, so it was beyond question to discredit her. Thankfully, Wulff, Bryland, Cousland, and even some of Franderel's supporters vociferously hurried to defend the Grand Cleric. It didn't stop Franderel from ranting, but for now he was outmaneuvered.

Finally, Bann Alfstanna snapped: "Oh for the love of Lady Andraste! Will you shut up already, Lord Franderel?! The Grand Cleric wants to make a declaration!"

Believe it or not. Franderel did shut up—and sulked. His tiny eyes, embedded in masses of fat, glinted nastily.

The Grand Cleric stepped into the middle of the hall between the opposing parties. She held her head high, every inch of her radiating dignity and solemnity. "We have assembled here to investigate the heritage of King Alistair and to discuss whether he is the man to lead Ferelden in times of trouble—or if there were a better choice, a man more experienced and with the guarantee of a stable bloodline. We have come to learn a lot about these two men—and there couldn't be two leader personalities any more different than these two. We've been informed about their political agenda and beliefs. We have tested their honor and believability."

I could feel the tension in the room, the aggression seething beneath the cultivated surface. You could have heard a pin drop, all eyes were on the Grand Cleric. Here and now, I had reached the point of no return. It was now my fate that would be decided, and I would get no second chance. Clinging to Rori's hands, I held my breath when the Grand Cleric cleared her throat, murmured a silent prayer and with gravity declared:

"We have heard many witnesses and though we have no real evidence, I in my heart I am convinced that His Majesty, King Alistair, is King Maric's son and the rightful king of Ferelden..."


	23. Till Death Do Us Part

Sorry for the delay. It has taken me a while to write this one. I hope it is worth the waiting.

Marika Haliwell: LOL. You should write your own story. Haha. So just like him, right? Thanks so much for commenting. And sorry for my late reply. *hugs*

doristhe changer: Hm, I think, you may be right about your prediction... Thank you so much for reading and supporting me. :D

And thanks to anybody else who cares to read this story. Enjoy reading.

* * *

Chapter 23 - Till Death Do Us Part

The words had only just left the Grand Cleric's mouth when Franderel burst into tears of shame, threw himself into the dust at my feet and begged for forgiveness, confessing all his crimes and announcing he would give up his titles and lands and spend the rest of his life in a monastery, doing good to atone for his sins. Then he jubliated "Hail King Alistair!" and his followers joined in, chastened and ashamed of their accusations and treacherous acts. I generously forgave them as I am a just and wise king and we all came together for the greatest group hug ever. And then we all lived happily ever after...

Just kidding.

Let's call it wishful thinking on my part, okay? You wanna know what really happened? The whole unadorned truth? Just the cold, hard facts? Just so you know, it's not pretty, so don't say I didn't warn you.

The Grand Cleric's declaration was followed by a brief moment of complete silence. I was thunderstruck. Somehow I had never expected this outcome, despite Mrs. Couldry's and Leliana's interference. Obviously Franderel was as surprised as I was, since for the first time ever he was slack-jawed and quiet. Not for long, though.

"Seriously?" I asked timidly when some of my followers started clapping their hands hesitantly. Some uttered meek cheers. Everybody could feel the tension in the room, the fury seething just below the surface, the hatred that hung in the air like a poisonous fog. And then Franderel recovered from the first shock and chaos broke lose.

"No! Not true! This is not happening! This is fake!" Franderel shrieked, his red fat face puffed and contorted in anger as he stomped his feet like an oversized toddler. "You are a FAKE!" he cried, pointing his finger at the Grand Cleric. "You're not the Grand Cleric, you're some kind of disgusting demon. You're possessed. Evil magic is at work. The Orlesians have taken over. They aim to destroy Ferelden!"

He went on and on. His voice grew louder and louder, a shrill flood of lies, insults and obscenities. The cautious cheers of the pro-Alistair folks were drowned by shouts of anger from the riled up crowd, insults spat at me and my supporters, threats of death and whatever kindness the Franderel-side had to offer.

"How dare you!" the Grand Cleric protested indignantly. "I demand an apology. My judgment is based on..." She struggled against the insults crashing down on her like a storm surge and was swept away in the maelstrom of lunacy that errupted from Franderel's mouth.

"Alistair!" Leliana hissed next to me. "Do something!"

"Like what? Could you get a bit more specific?" I muttered.

"Something... something to stop him!" Leliana said helplessly. Even the master manipulator didn't know how to handle Franderel. Reason, respect, honour, etiquette, rules—Franderel didn't even know what these words meant. Even threatening him didn't work as it turned him into a martyr, and to him and his supporters, proved his absurd theories true. So, with tremendous effort, I fought down the urge to just punch that ranting douchebag in the face.

"SILENCE!" I roared in my best kingly voice—and was ignored. I still wonder if there had been something I could have done to prevent what happened next. Perhaps things would have been different if I had just acted on instinct. Perhaps it all would have been worse. Perhaps if I had acted earlier... Perhaps if I had squelched Franderel's venomous tirade right away... Perhaps if I had Franderel arrested... Perhaps if I had killed him... Back then, in the heat of the moment, it didn't seem wise to take him captive or slaughter him right there in front of his supporters. What I wanted, what I needed was the peaceful acceptance of the Grand Cleric's judgment. Maybe a greater man than I am would have united Ferelden. Alas, there was only Alistair—and Alistair failed. I didn't have the presence of mind that was required in that situation. So, my outcry was answered with someone from the crowd throwing a heavy silver goblet at me. I ducked, it sailed past my head and hit the Grand Cleric instead. She went down like she were struck by lightning, a heavily bleeding gash opening at her forehead.

Franderel pointed at me and shrieked: "He murdered the Grand Cleric!"

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. Whatever had held the opposing parties at bay it POOFed! and with a unison roar of anger, everybody in the hall drew their weapons and attacked their foes with uncontrolled frenzy. People ran for the doors and found them blocked by Franderel's mercenaries, cutting down anybody in their way. Blood splattered across the floor, screams echoed through the hall, the sound of bones breaking, metal scraping against metal...

Next to me, Jane went into hysterics, running around like a headless chicken. Rori cursed like a sailor as she entered the fight with whirling blades, Fergus at her side to take care of those who escaped her. Her uncle, Angus Mac Eanraig, came upon his enemies like a leviathan. Franderel himself was caught in the middle of the raging battle. It suddenly dawned on him that it wasn't the brightest idea he ever had to rile up a crowd when he was right there in the line of fire. He shrieked like a pig, stumbled and fell, crawling away from the fight and towards one of the doors on all fours as quickly as he could.

I scored at least one hit by kicking his unprotected hindquarters. He slammed face-forward on the ground, slid across the floor and straight out of the door. "GOAL!" I cheered. Things were beginning to look up. And then they got even worse when I didn't even get to draw my weapon before Leliana cried: "Protect the king!" Her words put Shale into action, as if activated by a control rod. The massive golem lifted me off the ground and clamped me under its arm like a blasted rugby ball, my feet dangling in the air uselessly as Shale started a run for the Royalists. Franderel's defense stepped up, but couldn't stop the golem's drive. It just shoved them aside, arm outstretched, and stomped those too slow to get out of its way into the ground.

"Hey! What are you doing?! Put me down!" I protested. Out of the corner of my eye I could I could see Franderel flee out of the hall. "He's getting away! Go after him! To the right, to the right!" I shouted at the golem without any success. I kicked and screamed orders but Shale never put me down, not even when we stormed out of the hall into the arcade. There the golem almost stumbled over Mrs. Couldry swinging her ladle against five broadshouldered mercenaries. Needless to say, the poor lads didn't stand a chance.

"Youths nowadays just have no manners," Mrs. Couldry greeted us as she whacked the last mercenary over the head forcefully. "Five strong men attacking a helpless old woman!" She shook her head sadly at the abasement of morality while tucking her ladle in the waistband of her apron.

"Helpless my ass!" I snorted and Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head.

"Language!" she shrieked. "And don't you get fresh with me, young man! To keep you alive is harder a job than I have ever had."

"You're fired!" I snapped, squirming and kicking to finally escape the golem's hold. "Let go of me! Rori is still in there! I have to help her! I have to stop this madness!" Inside the hall, the battle was still raging. It was impossible to tell who had the upper hand. Franderel had promised to drain the swamp. He certainly kept true to his promise. The already thinned out nobility was eradicating itself in yet another bloody confrontation.

"All in good time," Mrs. Couldry said grimly. "Right now, there is nothing you can do. It is not in your power. Franderel had it in his hands. He could have sworn fealty and paved the way to unite the kingdom. Alas, neither he nor his supporters saw reason. Bloodshed was inevitable."

"Not Rori's blood! Let go of me! I can... I must help her!"

"Don't be silly!"

"But there has to be something we can do! We cannot just let this happen!" I protested stubbornly.

Mrs. Couldry gently patted my cheek. "Words can only reach those who are willing to listen. It is not your fault, lad. This all already started with Maric's disappearance."

"It's not even six months since I became king, and they are already bashing their heads in!" I cried out desperately, unconvinced by Mrs. Couldry's explanation. This was my responsibility. I wasn't like my father. I didn't even get anywhere close. I was just Alistair—when had that ever been enough? "What kind of king does that make me?"

"The one this kingdom needs," Mrs. Couldry said, and she really sounded as if she believed that nonsense. "Shale, you take the king to a safe place. I won't have gone through all of this just to lose him to his own foolish bravery."

And then the old hag went to war—backed up by Sergeant Kylon and the Denerim palace guards—while I was dragged away like a disobedient toddler and grounded in Wulff's office with the golem guarding me. Shale just tossed me into the office and slammed the door shut. I was left to drum my fists against the locked door, shouting insults and threats at the golem outside while my kingdom was tossed into yet another civil war. The culprit was on the run. My love and my unborn child were in deadly danger. And Mrs. Couldry acted as if everybody was replaceable but me. It was just like the siege of Denerim when Suri had sacrificed herself so I could live. I was so sick and tired of all of this. I didn't want to be left behind anymore, to live on when everyone dear to me was gone. And yet here I was, same shit, different day. Things couldn't possibly get any better, right?

Finally realizing the golem wouldn't let me out, I tried to break down the door. I scanned the room—huge, extremely tidy desk, finely carved chairs, shelves upon shelves filled with books—for something to break down the doors. There wasn't anything useful and I was more likely to break my leg or shoulder should I try to kick down or ram the door.

"Alright Alistair, this is a quite massive door with an extremely massive golem in front of it," I muttered to myself. "You'll never get out that way. But..." I turned toward the windows framed by long, dark red curtains. The moment I put my hands on the handle and opened the windows there was movement beside me. The curtain was swaying, I spun round, suddenly face to face with the very last person I would have expected. "Wha...?" was all I managed to say before I was stabbed. Yep. Stabbed. Right in the chest. With a really long, sharp letter opener. Unbelieving, I stared at the handle sticking out of my body—it was shaped like a snake. How very fitting!—and back at the face of the man who had just murdered me. Spitefulness and hatred stared back at me from cold narrow eyes in a blotched red face. Franderel. Of all people! Seriously?! Life was such a bitch! Boy! I could have handled getting killed by Zevran. Even choking on a piece of ham sandwich or falling out of bed at night and breaking my neck. But being stabbed by Franderel? After all I had gone through? I was seriously pissed.

The look on my face must have been so damn furious that Franderel got scared. He stumbled backwards when I staggered towards him, grabbed the dagger to stab me again but hit thin air as I just slipped to the ground helplessly, tearing down the curtain in a last attempt to keep myself on my feet. At the same time, there were voices and movement in front of the door. While I was flopping around like a beetle on its back, Franderel frantically searched for a way to escape. He turned in circles to find somewhere to hide—finally darting towards the sofa. He had just squeezed himself under it when the door swung open and in stormed Rori, followed by Mrs. C, Wynne, Leliana and Shale.

"Alistair!" Rori cried out, falling to her knees beside me, clutching my hand. All color drained from her face, she bent over me, her hands pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding. "What... what happened?"

Yeah, well, let's see. I was dragged away from a battle where I could possibly have died in a heroic way and got locked into a room like a misbehaving brat for my own safety only to get murdered by the biggest liar and coward in all Thedas that was currently hiding under the sofa and—judging from the puddle on the floor—wetting himself. That quite summarized it. Unfortunately all I got out was: "Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle..." combined with spitting a whole lot of blood.

"Step aside, girl." Wynne, all business, checked my wounds with practiced skill. "Don't speak!" she scolded me softly when I opened my mouth and all that came out was just another gust of blood.

I flailed with my arms to point out Franderel over there under the sofa and was scolded again to keep still. Just awesome! The way I lay on the floor I could see him quite clearly, but none of the women were aware of him hiding there. Leliana and Mrs. Couldry were at the window, convinced the assassin had left the room that way. Leliana even climbed out to chase the murderer. If she only had paid some attention she could have saved herself the effort. But I guess even master spies make errors. Rori only had eyes for me, and Wynne was concentrating on casting healing spells. Only Shale stomped around the room, unimpressed by my display of squishy flesh creature inferiority.

Once again I tried to point out Franderel under the sofa. "He has cramps," Wynne murmured worriedly. No! For fuck's sake! I didn't have fucking cramps! I was pointing my freaking leg at the guy under the sofa as Rori was clutching my hands! Fuck! Out of all shitty days, this one was about to become the shittiest ever.

"Stay with me, boy," Wynne breathed, sweat forming on her forehead, her hands shaking from the effort of working her magic. "Oh, he's slipping away... You have to fight it, Alistair..."

Fight, right. What did she think I was doing? I was far too angry to die now. Not like that. Not while Franderel, that sodding bastard, was still alive. Not when Rori was here... Rori... She pressed my hand to her face, kissing my knuckles one by one. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and there was absolutely nothing I could do to comfort her. "Alistair, please stay with me," she sobbed. "Please. I love you."

Oh Rori...

I never had the chance to tell her what she truly meant to me. How much I cared. How she had brought me back to life when I had hardly been more than the walking talking shell of the man I used to be. I had never had the courage to tell her how damn wonderful she was. And now it was too late.

I was feeling so cold, so tired. I could feel my own heartbeat fade, the blood was rushing in my ears, pain surged through my body. I realized this was the very last gasp. I didn't have enough strength left for more than a few words. Did I want to end this life with "Franderel... under... sofa..." or with "I... love... you, too."? Did I want to make sure that bastard got what he deserved? You're damn right I did! But there was something more important than that. Love can be a terrible thing. It can hurt you so much it tears you apart. And still, the greatest thing you can ever learn is how to love, and be loved in return...

Oh come on! I was dying! I was allowed some platitudes. It's not as if you suddenly get super-witty when you're just about to kick the bucket.

Anyway, it was a choice between hatred and love. And although I was dying, a victim of pure hatred, I still believed love to be stronger. I wanted Rori to know. I wanted her to find the strength within her that I never had after Suri had left me. But Rori, she was different. She would cling to the faintest ray of hope and happiness and make it shine. She would cherish the beautiful memories and rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

With the greatest effort, I turned my head away from Franderel's sneer to look Rori in the eyes, so full of warmth and love and sadness. "I... I love you, too," I breathed, blood flooding from my mouth with every word. Then I went very still. I was too weak to move, my body felt so distant. I could hardly hear Rori cry my name, hardly noticed the shocked faces of Mrs. Couldry, Jane, Arl Wulff, Fergus Cousland and Maker only knows who else hovering over me, hardly felt Wynnes last desperate tries to force me to stay with the power of her magic. I tried to hold on, but I just... slipped. My head lolled to the side, and the very last thing I saw was Shale contemplating the puddle of piss in front of the sofa thoughtfully.

"Hm," the golem mused, pressing its fist against the cushioning to test it, pushing it down on Franderel. He let out a gasp of fear, panic contorting his face. Shale paused, regarding the sofa suspiciously. "This sofa seems to be quite comfortable," it droned. "Maybe I should take a seat..."

"What, ho? Help, help, help!" Franderel shrieked under the sofa.

"How now, a chicken? It shows the white feather!" Shale thundered, slumping down on the sofa. It collapsed with a loud thud, burying Franderel beneath. "Dead for a ducat, dead!" Shale noted with grim satisfaction when blood and a whole lot of rather squishy flesh formed yet another puddle on the floor.

HA! Never let it be said that the mills of the Maker grind slowly!

There was a whole lot of excitement. Nothing I really cared to noticed. My own small world got reduced to the feeling of Rori cradling me, the heat of her tears on my cold face, the softness of her lips against my skin...

... and then there was darkness.

I was floating like a feather in the wind, circling downwards slowly into the pitch black void. I wasn't scared. I was weightless. I was free. Whatever sorrow or worries had haunted me, they were gone. There was a soft glow in the distance, dots of light wafting towards me. I turned in awe when the first ball of light, like a giant soap bubble, passed by, displaying scenes that seemed familiar and yet so distant. There were so many I couldn't take a closer look at all of them, some as small as an apple, others as large as a cartwheel...

... Rori and I kissing beneath Mrs. Couldry's tomato plants...

... Me on my knees, cradling Suri's lifeless body in my arms...

... Me presenting the Lothering rose to Suri...

... Duncan walking away after he wished me luck. It was the last time I had seen him alive...

More and more bubbles wafted by, the memories of my life, good and bad times, hope and despair, love and hatred, victory and defeat. I had never before cared to notice how rich in experience my life had been. Not all of them were good but they had shaped who I was, and now looking back at this life, I realized it hadn't been that bad. Yeah, it was a rather short life, lots of death and depression and such. But the biggest bubbles with the brightest glow where those that told the story of my happy days first with Suri, then Rori.

Then all of a sudden, my falling stopped. I softly landed on solid ground. The bubbles were floating in the distance like silverish ghosts. I was stranded on a small floating island. Looking around, I noticed some kind of fluorescent pulsating rope attached to my body and connected to a tiny dot of light far above. It almost seemed as if it was... alive.

Strange.

How long I just sat there, taking in my surroundings in mild astonishment. Time didn't matter anymore. I was content watching the bubbles and waiting for what I didn't know. Not that I cared. Nothing mattered.

"Alistair."

I turned at the sound of the soft husky voice that so often whispered to me in my dreams. "Suri!" Beaming from ear to ear I jumped to my feet, bouncing toward her like a oversized puppy. She stood just at the edge of the platform. The closer I got, the more I strained the shining rope. Suri stretched her hands toward me, but stayed just out of reach. The bond held me back, so tight now it would snap if stretched any further. "What the...?" I leant against the blasted rope. reaching out to take Suri's hands. I had to hold onto her to stop the rope from pulling me back. "Suri, why don't you come closer?" I begged. For so long I had yearned to be with her again, to hold her in my arms and though she was here now, we were still parted.

"I can't," she said sadly. Only then did I notice that she wasn't standing on the plattform but... on nothing at all. She was floating in the darkness just beyond the edge. "There's no returning from death."

"Then... I should come to you?" I asked hesitantly. A shudder ran through me at the realization of where I was. Not that I had been completely oblivious to my situation. However, I had avoided naming it. Death. Whoa... I don't know what I had expected. Perhaps some skeleton dude in a black cloak with scythe. Certainly not Suri.

"You can if that is what you really want." Suri answered softly.

"I am dying, aren't I?" I laughed uneasily. "It doesn't sound as if I have much of a choice."

"You do. A strong and brave man could still fight his way back into life."

"But you don't believe I could?"

"What I believe doesn't matter, Alistair. You keep looking for others to confirm you, to lend you strength, to push you," Suri said and added with a chiding smile: "And then you complain about being pushed."

"Touché!" I admitted bashfully.

"You have to believe in yourself, Alistair. How long have I been telling you that?"

"It's a bit late now, isn't it?" I sighed.

"So, this is your choice? You want to come with me and fade into oblivion?" Suri asked earnestly. "It's what you always wanted ever since Duncan died at Ostagar, am I right? You wished to be in Duncan's place. You felt guilty, you felt he would have been the better man to end the Blight. And you feared the responsibility—feared it so much that death seemed like an easy way out."

"So, you're telling me to pull myself together and live?" I asked, confused. She didn't seem thrilled to have me here with her.

Suri sighed exasperatedly. "For the love of Lady Andraste, Alistair! Can't you for once make a decision on your own?"

"I know exactly what I want!" I exclaimed, stubbornly stomping my feet. "I want to be with you! That's all I've ever wanted. I am sick and tired of the struggle of being king. I never wanted to be king first place."

Suri rolled her eyes. "Then come with me. We can be together for always and forever. Even death won't part us," she said sarcastically. "Come with me, Alistair. All you have to do, is jump. It's so easy. Even you cannot mess that up. Jump, Alistair! Jump!" She pulled with all her strength, causing me to stumble forward—and I was right at the edge, the bond strained to its breaking point. Suddenly, I was scared. There were no shiny floating bubbles down there, just darkness. I didn't know what lay beyond. The Fade? Would I just enter into another dimension where my dreams became true? Was this the end? Would there be nothing at all? Would it hurt?

Suri sensed my hesitation. "Your life is a burden to you—that's what you keep telling everybody and their dog. So much have you lost, so many are gone. Loneliness and despair and an endless struggle. You wouldn't want to return to that, would you? All you have to do is to jump. It's so easy..."

"It... it's quite a long way down there..." I laughed nervously.

"You just fall. Climbing upwards, now that's what you should be worried about," Suri snorted.

"Shouldn't I at least give it a try?" I mumbled undecidedly.

"Should you? Why?"

One of the shiny bubbles floated past right in front of my face. Inside there was a red-haired girl with dark blue eyes like pools of mirth and a myriad of freckles, smiling at me impishly.

"Rori," I whispered, smiling back at her.

"Why waste your time on her?" Suri demanded to know. "You can't have her anyway. Do you really want to spend your life yearning for her when you can be here with me? You and I together. We are meant for each other. The ginger is just a consolation prize..."

"Hey! Don't talk about her like that! She is... my friend... and... well, actually, she's more than just a friend... she's a friend with... breasts... and all the rest..." I sighed. "I mean... I love her." My voice cracked at the memory of Rori holding me in her arms, her eyes reflecting her own agony and grief but above all... her love. All the time I had thought Suri to be my one and only true love. Rori, though I did love her, could never compete with Suri. If there had been a choice to make—Suri vs. Rori—all this time I had been absoltuely sure Suri would have won. But there was no choice—not until now. Blast! Suri was right. I was such a coward, such a fool. I had used my love for her as an excuse to avoid responsibility. It had been the same when Duncan died. It was more than just mourning. It was me being too much of a coward to live my life. It was time to accept the truth. "No, Rori's not a just a friend," I whispered, more talking to myself than to Suri. "She's much more. I do love her—as much as I love you. And although I can't be with her, I cannot just skip out on her. She's going to have a baby. My baby... I... I think I should go now..." I straightened up, finally looking Suri in the eyes.

"So, you give up your dream to return to a nightmare?" Suri asked as I pulled free from her grasp and stepped away from the abyss.

"It's not a nightmare... it's... Boy! I guess I really should stop complaining so much."

"A new mantra?" Suri teased. "You're not going to last for five minutes without me whacking you with my staff whenever you get carried away."

"Believe it or not, I found yet another stopgap to perform as a kind reminder." I chuckled.

"Farewell now, Alistair." Suri blew me a kiss, then added with a grin: "Live long and prosper. And get this kingdom of yours under control. It certainly needs some serious reform..."

"Suri!" I lauged.

"You're right. You shouldn't dawdle." Suri smiled. She was already fading, dissolving slowly to become one with the darkness again.

"Farewell, Suri. I love you. I always will." I whispered.

"Ditto," answered a bodiless voice.

Then she was gone and I was all alone again. Smiling to myself, I rolled up my sleeves and began to climb the shining rope.


	24. Going to the Chapel

doristhe changer: Aww, thank you. Having readers tell me the story makes them laugh is always the best compliment. And yep, something very shiny for Shale. She certainly deserves it. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 24 - Going to the Chapel**

"You're awake! Thank the Maker!"

I woke up to a stranger's face hovering over me. A tiny elven woman with a pale face framed by spiky black hair smiled brightly at me. There was such a warm gentleness in her smile, so much affection in her dark brown eyes—love, actually. Confused and still quite dizzy I blinked at her, wondering who she was. I was sure I had never seen her before, yet there was something familiar about her. And the way she looked at me... It was impossible, really. I must have been mistaken—and still...

"Who... who are you?" I asked puzzled, my voice hoarse as if I hadn't used it in a while. "Where am I? What happened? Where is Rori?"

"So many questions," the elf chuckled as she helped me lift my head to drink a sip of water. "I best answer them one by one or we'll get all confused." She winked at me, grinning impishly. I guessed her to be in her early forties—I wasn't sure. It's so hard to guess a woman's age, even harder when she's an elf, but her grin made her look like a young girl. "I am Grand Enchanter Fiona," she introduced herself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I replied politely, causing her smile to widen. She now grinned from ear to ear. Weakly I returned her smile. Maker! I was so dizzy. "I cannot remember you, yet you seem familiar. Have we met before?"

"No!" she exclaimed forcefully, her smile wiped off her face. I was taken aback by her reaction, but before I could wonder about it she went on quickly: "You are still in West Hill. You do remember there was a fight after the Grand Cleric supported you?"

"Ugh, yeah, now that wasn't pretty... How many died that day?"

"I don't know the exact numbers. Far too many I daresay. Without the Denerim reinforcement, your side certainly would have lost. At least that's what I heard. And then you got stabbed."

I pulled a face and touched my chest where the knife had sunken in. "I died," I muttered.

"It was a close shave," Fiona confirmed. "Wynne could stabilize you but you lapsed into a coma. A raven was sent to Kinloch Hold. I was paying a visit to Irving and when I heard of what had happened, I volunteered to help. This Arl Wulff made quite a fuss about my presence," she added, her Orlesian accent becoming heavier,"but Mrs. Couldry knocked some sense into him. She's a remarkable woman."

"Undoubtedly." I agreed.

"You were unconscious for three weeks. Our hope was already fading but then you showed signs of recognition when the little ginger talked to you—and now here you are." She smiled again that warm, gentle smile of hers. I instantly felt loved and protected. Crazy, right? I mean, I didn't know that woman a bit.

"Rori! Where is she?"

Fiona just pointed to the other side of the bed. With enormous effort I turned my head and there she was, curled up in an armchair with Furdinand and both fast asleep. She wore her funny rainbow coloured stripped socks, sticking out from under the blanket Fiona had wrapped around her and the dog. My heart skipped a beat, a surge of warmth swept through my body, erasing whatever pain tormented me for that moment. Maker's Breath! She was beautiful. And I loved her. I heaved a sigh of pure happiness, smiling foolishly at the sleeping girl. For that moment I was content just watching her. I knew it wouldn't last. Reality would strike soon.

"She hardly left your side," Fiona said, regarding me with fond amusement. "She took care of you, talked to you, sang to you, held your hand. She worked her very own magic on you when Wynne and I were at our wit's end. We were convinced we had lost you. It seemed you had given up—as had we—but Lady Rori, she never surrendered."

"She's as stubborn as a Storm Coast ram," I chuckled—and instantly regreted it as a sharp pain pierced my chest. "Ouch!"

"You should rest," Fiona said softly.

"I've rested for weeks," I yawned, hardly able to keep my eyes open. "I cannot laze about..."

"Sleep well, my dear boy..."

And sleep I did.

That voice—and the melody she hummed. I had the strangest dreams afterwards. I cannot really remember. All I know is that it was fuzzy and warm and cozy and I felt safe from any harm. Weird. Maybe some kind of spell...

When I drifted back to consciousness I found myself sandwiched by Rori and Furdinand with the dog drooling onto my shoulder and snoring into my ear. Rori was half wrapped around me, nuzzling the crook of my neck. Rori's eyes fluttered open when I stirred, Furdinand just kept snoring. She yawned and stretched like a cat, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her hair a tousled mess, one curl tickling the tip of her nose. Instantly I knew this was the sight I wanted to wake up every morning from now on for the rest of my life. Wishful thinking unless I kicked the bucket within the next few days. Just because I had almost been stabbed to death didn't mean all my problems had POOFed! Quite the contrary. I was pretty sure new problems had piled up while I had been down and out. But for this short moment it was only Rori and I—and Furdinand blowing his dog breath in my neck.

"Maker's Breath, but you are beautiful," I whispered when Rori beamed at me, squealing with delight when she hugged and kissed me.

"I'd really like to return the compliment. Truth is, you look terrible," she grinned, nuzzling my nose happily.

"Is it that bad?" I asked, worriedly running my fingers through my hair. It was a mess, far too long and completely out of place. A complete disaster for someone obsessed with his hair.

"It's worse," Rori said mercilessly. "But I still love you."

"Whew, ain't I lucky?" I chuckled.

"Very lucky," Rori beamed, showering my rather hairy face with kisses.

There were a dozen questions or more I wanted to ask her, a hundred things to take care of, but there was a silent agreement between us to not spoil this precious moment together. So, instead of discussing our uncertain future, Rori fed me with soup, spoonful by spoonful. Only then did I realize how hungry I was. My beloved nurse was very pleased with me when I emptied a second bowl. Then she lathered my face and shaved me, chatting merrily about Furdinand's and Barkspawn's latest adventures and that Wulff ordered a statue made in Shale's honour. The golem drove the poor sculptor crazy. Nothing was ever good enough for it. And today the poor man had run screaming from his workroom with Shale's laughter following him. He had only just sat down with his hammer and chisel in hand when the statue suddenly shouted "BOO!", scaring the sculptor half to death. The insidious golem had hidden the statue and taken its place, unnoticed by the sculptor.

It felt good to be clean shaven again—and quite awkward when Rori washed the rest of me. "Stop being so finicky, Alistair," she scolded me when I squirmed and stammered and embarrassed pulled the blanket up to my chin. "It's not as if I haven't seen these parts before!" How to explain to a determined woman on a body hygienic crusade the difference of being starckers when making hot love to her and of the humiliation of being but a naked shadow of my former self, my body a ruin and me helpless. I tried but all I got for an answer was: "But you stink, Alistair."

"You sleep next to Furdinand and complain about me smelling bad?"

"You're not a dog, Alistair. But now that you mention it, Furdinand is in dire need of a bath, too..." As soon as the words had left her mouth the mabari fled under the bed. Smart move.

"You do recall I was brought up by flying dogs from The Anderfels, don't you?"

"With that smell how could I ever forget?" Rori teased. "You're still manly and sexy—and so incredibly cute when you blush," she laughed, ruffling my hair, when I stubbornly shook my head no.

"You're an evil woman!" I huffed, clutching my blanket even tighter.

"Evil, dangerous, and armed. Beware of the wrath of the spongespawn, mwhahaha!"

Armed with a dripping wet sponge, she pulled the blanket away. But I wasn't going to go down without a fight. Weakened by weeks of lying in bed I was no match for Rori and got thoroughly womanhandled, but at least in the end she was as wet as me. Straddled by the readheaded little imp, my hands pinned to either side of my head by her, I had to accept my defeat.

"Look what you've done," Rori scolded me, looking down her front at the thoroughly soaked formerly white and now rather transparent blouse clinging to her body.

"The view has certainly improved a great deal," I purred. Our romp had exhausted me, but Rori's hot core pressed against my manhood with only the smooth silk of her panties in between us was enough to revive me. It seemed I wasn't as dead as I had thought to be.

"As has the smell," Rori added with an impish grin as she peeled the wet garment off her skin, dropping it to the floor unceremonously but crossed her arms in front of her scarred chest shyly when she caught me staring, her sudden boldness swept away by her insecurity. "I... I should go..." she muttered, hiding her face behind a veil of red curls. "You're still weak and you need rest..."

"Rori," I whispered softly, gently taking both her hands in mine, brushing my thumbs across her palms. "You're beautiful." With a lopsided grin I added. "I would have to be dead as a gryphon not to notice."

"Flatterer," Rori muttered, a smile tucking at the corners of her lips. "Still... you need rest..."

"D'awww, but you wouldn't leave me without a kiss, would you?" I pouted.

Grinning, Rori bent down to nibble my lips teasingly, her milky white breasts pressing against my bare skin. And from that point on one thing lead to another. Afterwards I was so spent I pretty much passed out right in the middle of my own orgasm.

Next time I opened my eyes Eamon's face appeared in sight. "Your Majesty," he said. "We have hunted down many traitors, yet they succeeded in murdering the Warden Commander..."

Oh wow! King business! How I missed being loaded with insolvable problems! Nothing like tricky governance stuff to ginger up your life!

"... the situation demands you take action at once..."

Yeah, sure. Three weeks in a coma couldn't stop me. I had to go from zero to hero blazingly fast as soon as I woke up. A piece of cake—when I hadn't ingested solid food for almost a month now.

"... a darkspawn army is reported to march on Amaranthine..."

Doom!

DOOM!

Oh bloody blast it! Three weeks and the whole blasted kingdom was falling appart. I wouldn't have minded another three weeks' rest, but without anybody to command the Grey Wardens and me the only senior Warden anywhere close by, I couldn't afford to stay in bed. I knew what the darkspawn would do, should they conquer the city.

"O-okay, just gimme a minute," I groaned, trying to sit up in bed and failed completely. My head was spinning, my whole body ached and I collapsed back onto the matress.

"Your Majesty? Alistair?" I heard Eamon call me worriedly.

All he got for a reply was a pained grunt when I finally rolled out of bed and, clutching the bedpost for support, stood on wobbly knees—for about ten seconds or so—before I slid onto the rug. And that's where I stayed, gasping for air.

Eamon shook me by my shoulders, slapping my cheeks gently to get me back to my feet until Wynne came upon him like wrath incarnate, like instantly. Through the crack of a half-opened eye, I watched her usher Eamon out of my room.

"Arl Eamon, with all due respect, leave the poor boy alone! After all he has gone through he deserves some rest. You handled the affairs of the kingdom quite well the last few weeks; you will manage without his Majesty for another one or two until he has fully recovered!" Wynne firmly closed the door behind Eamon.

"You realize I don't have another two weeks," I muttered, pulling myself back onto the bed. "Whatever spell it takes to get me going, use it." It wasn't only about the people of Amaranthine, it was about the whole kingdom. My position as king was still weak, and if I didn't show up to protect my people, I could still lose what I had been fighting for during this silly investigation and the six months before. My reputation as a hero of the Fifth Blight had kept me in power, the fact that I had been there in the thick of the battle, that I had personally risked my life for the sake of Ferelden.

Wynne opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again when I shot her a look. "Didn't you preach about duty and sacrifice and how the Grey Wardens serve the people over and over again?" I asked tiredly. "You know there's no choice here for me. I have to go and you have to get me going."

"The magic you demand me to use could kill you," Wynne answered sadly, but she did not object.

"No risk, no gain," I answered with a lopsided grin. "I'll just have to cheat death again."

"The cards are stacked against you this time," Wynne pointed out worriedly.

"They've been stacked against me since Suri and I woke up in Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds, the only two Grey Wardens left to end the blasted Blight. Fate keeps dealing me bad hands, but it seems I'm pretty good at bluffing."

"Fine. But if you go, so will I," Wynne informed me and there was no arguing about that. Smiling I accepted her offer. Her concern was heartwarming. Wynne was the granny I had never had. She had changed my point of view on mages more than Suri had.

Grand Enchanter Fiona, when summoned, wasn't thrilled by my request, but she did as told, muttering something about stupid stubborn silly men under her breath. Both mages crammed so much magic into my ruined body that I felt like a magically stuffed turkey.

Rori wasn't as easy to convince as the mages. She didn't give a damn about my kingly duty when she stormed into my bedroom just as Arlington was about to help me put on my magically tweaked armor. "Out!" she barked at the butler who indignantly raised an eyesbrow at so much unladylike behavior.

"Leave us alone, please," I asked, although I would have rather hidden behind the butler.

"As you wish, your Majesty." With utmost dignity, Arlington stalked out of the room.

"Hasn't anybody ever taught you how to delegate?" Rori asked furiously, her blazing eyes hardly concealing her fear of losing me—again. "You're more dead than alive. Nobody in their right mind can expect you to fight darkspawn! How can you be so... so... so... stupid?!"

I smiled at her, riling her up even more. She was incredibly cute with her fists clenched at her sides, the curls bouncing around her head as she paced the room angrily. "I love you," I said.

"That's not fair," Rori complained and burst into tears as she flung herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck. Hot tears trickled down my collarbone as she pressed her face to the crook of my neck. "Please, please don't go," she begged, as I gently petted her back while holding her.

"I have to," I muttered into her hair, inhaling the fresh scent of verbena on her.

"Then I'll go with you," she declared defiantly, fidgeting out of my embrace.

Now it was my turn to object. "What!? No way! You can't fight darkspawn! You are with child... Our child..." I hesitated, searching for a confirmation in her expression. All I got was pure defiance and stubbornness. "You are, aren't you?"

Rori misunderstood me completely. "So you, too, believe me to be a stray whore to lay with any men I come across?" she snapped, hurt and disappointment making her voice shake.

"No, Rori, never. I just thought it could have been a bluff... Grey Wardens really have an infertility problem. So I thought you perhaps made it up to help me..."

"No, unfortunately it's all true," she said bitterly. I didn't understand until Wulff joined us, storming in unannounced with Eamon, Jane, Leliana, and a still rather shaky Grand Cleric in tow. She was recovering from a broken skull with a splitting headache as her constant companion. It didn't make getting along with her any easier. Before the door shut behind them, Mrs. Couldry squeezed in, melting with the shadows. Arl Wulff was concerned, too, that I could possibly die in battle or when the magic subsided. His conclusion, however, wasn't meant to keep me out of battle.

"The kingdom would be left without a monarch, should you fall, your Majesty," Wulff pointed out. "You should take preparations to ensure there won't be a power vacuum."

Uh-oh, I was quite sure I wouldn't like what was going to come.

"You have to marry before you leave tomorrow," Wulff went on, shoving Jane to the front.

Yep, so didn't like it. I was getting pretty good at predictions. I opened my mouth to protest. The last thing I wanted was to get married right now. At least not to Jane.

"You will need West Hill's support against the darkspawn, your Majesty," Wulff pointed out coldly.

"Err... what? Are you saying if I don't marry your daughter you won't send your soldiers to help save the people of Amaranthine from the darkspawn?" I asked incredulously.

"I also demand,"Wulff went on as if I hadn't said anything at all, "that Lady Rori hand over her child to the Chantry and abdicate from the throne completely—both herself and the child."

"No!" Rori cried out fiercely, spinning round to face Wulff. "No, I will not give up my baby! You can have the throne. I don't want it. But you cannot make me give my baby away!"

"Why not?" Wulff asked acidly. "You already gave up your first child, didn't you?"

"That... that was different..." Rori protested meekly, a shudder running through her.

"The first child was of no worth to you," Wulff snarled. "A heir to the throne, however..."

"I don't care about the throne," Rori shot back, her voice shaking.

"That's what you say," the Grand Cleric meddled with affairs that certainly weren't any of her business.

Rori slumped her shoulders, retreating slowly like a cornered animal. She opened her mouth to tell Wulff off, but no sound came out. She had had her reasons to abandon that baby, a child conceived through rape, and yet she was ridden with grief. It had been one of her darkest moments in times so dark she would always live in their shadow. I reached out to take her hand, but Wulff stepped in, coming face to face with me. "It's your choice, your Majesty. But what chance to you stand against the darkspawn without West Hill?"

"Father!" Jane protested, clearly uncomfortable with the situation she found herself in.

"Quiet, daughter," Wulff ordered. "It is not your place to question my actions."

Outraged but vacillant, Jane stayed silent, disapproval written all over her face. She opened and clenched her fists, wavering in between obedience and defiance. "This so isn't right," she muttered when Leliana wrapped her arm around her shoulder, beckoning her to follow her out of the room with Mrs. Couldry opening the door for them quite eagerly. "It's cruel. And it's not what I want. I never wanted any of this!" The last sight I caught of the two women was Leliana whispering to her emphatically before Mrs. Couldry closed the door, rubbing her hands together with utmost satisfaction.

Something was brewing, and I couldn't get rid of the feeling the cook was stirring the whole mess with a wooden ladle.

I had a bone or two to pick with Mrs. Couldry and I was furious enough to do it right here and now when Wulff demanded I made a decision.

Anger flared up inside of me. How dare he force me to make such a choice? Clenching my fists, I hardly could restrain myself from punching him straight in the face. "You..." I pressed through gritted teeth, reaching out to grab Wulff by his colar. Sharply Mrs. Couldry's ladle came down on my fingers, stopping me from going after the Arl. "OW! Bloody blast it!" I cursed, sucking at my throbbing fingers.

"Language!" Mrs. Couldry shrieked, waving her ladle at me menacingly. "Think before you act, lad. You do need West Hill. And the kingdom needs stability. You won't gain it by the rivalry of two possible heirs."

"What!?" I stammered incredulously, staring with disbelief at the old elf.

"Act like a king, boy," Mrs. Couldry demanded sternly. And then she winked at me.

Damn that old hag! Whatever game she was playing, she hadn't bothered explaining the rules to me.

"I... um..." Wavering between just exploding and throwing a major fit right there and playing along despite not having the slightest clue where I was heading. I so didn't know what to do.

"You've slept a long time," Mrs. Couldry said, gently patting my arm. Beneath the gentle tone there was a sharpness even I couldn't miss.

"Huh?"

"Things happened while you slept," Mrs. Couldry went on, her stare boring into me.

"What you are trying to say is..."

"... that you now have to act like a wise king," Mrs. Couldry finished the sentence for me before I could blurt out something stupid.

Okay, fine. I would act like a wise king. But how she was going to make Rori act wisely was totally beyond me. Of course, Mrs. Couldry was right. I couldn't defend Amaranthine without Wulff. I didn't have much choice. Actually none. Sacrificing a whole city crammed with people for my own happiness was absolutely beyond question. I could have never looked at myself in the mirror again had I put myself first. Still, I put up a fight before surrendering unwillingly.

"Fine, I will marry your daughter," I submitted after some to and fro with Wulff that got me nowhere. He had me cornered and he knew it. "Just let Rori keep her baby..."

"I think I made myself clear," Wulff bellowed unnervedly. "You will only have my support if the child is given to the Chantry."

"I... I cannot ask this of her," I gasped.

"Then you will have to fight the darkspawn without the support of West Hill," Wulff said coolly.

"Fuck you!" Rori hissed. "I will fight the blasted darkspawn myself but you won't make me abandon my baby!"

"Then the people of Amaranthine will die," Wulff remarked mercilessly. "And it is your egoism that kills them."

"Oh, don't you blame their deaths on me, you bastard!" Rori snapped. She was bristling with anger. Furiously she grabbed the nearest thing she could get hold of and hurled it at Wulff. It happened to be a chamber pot. It slammed against Wulff's head, the smelly contents raining down on him. Wulff was outraged; Rori was rather pleased with herself. He called her a bitch and a whore, she called him a shoddy piece of crap and a base-born jackal. Caught in the middle of a cussing blizzard, even Mrs. Couldry didn't know where to bring down her ladle first. Teagan and Eamon had to step in to stop the two of them from starting a brawl, and it took a whole lot of persuasion from Eamon's side to stop Wulff from having Rori arrested.

"Get out of my sight!" Wulff barked. He was so wrathful he frothed at the mouth.

That's when Mrs. Couldry stepped in and ushered Rori out of the room. "Come on, my dear, the two of us will have a nice cup of tea and a little talk."

Rori neither wanted tea nor talk; she wanted to scratch out Wulff's eyes. My sentiments exactly. Mrs. Couldry, however, firmly dragged her along like a misbehaving brat.

I never found out what that little talk was about, but after several cups of tea, Rori, her face ashen, eyes puffed and red from all the tears she had cried, gave in to Wulff's request to give up her baby to the Chantry. "For the sake of Ferelden," she croaked, her eyes boring into Wulff with undisguised hatred and contempt. "For the lives of the people of Amaranthine."

There also was no chance to talk to Rori afterwards. Wulff and Eamon wouldn't let me get near her when she needed me most—just like I needed her. I was in a state of shock when Arlington stuffed me into something that could pass as a wedding suit. My mind circled around Rori and the baby, around the marriage I didn't want. At some point I burst into hysterical laughter when remembering the conversation with Suri. I had fought my way back to life only to have it kick me in the nuts. Life was a tremendous bitch.

"Chin up, lad" Mrs. Couldry encouraged me, patting my arm comfortingly. "This is not yet the end."

"Nope, it very much feels like the beginning of endless misery," I muttered sullenly.

Mrs. Couldry looked me straigt in the eye. Instead of craning her neck, the tiny elf just grabbed me by my colar and pulled me down. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Um... no?"

Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head.

"Maker! Yes, yes, I do!" I hurried to correct my judgment, not daring to remind her she had once told me to trust absolutely no one. You have a plan, right? Right?"

"How about you exercise a little faith?" she asked, ignoring my question. "The Maker moves in mysterious ways."

As did Mrs. Couldry. I never knew what she was up to until her ladle came down on my head.

Half an hour later I found myself walking down the aisle of the castle's chapel, feeling very much like a dead man walking. There were few guests. Eamon, Teagan, a rather miffed looking Grand Enchanter Fiona, Wynne explaining to Shale over and over again why crushing Wulff's head wouldn't change a thing, Leliana and Mrs. Couldry, her arm wrapped around Rori who was bawling her eyes out. Wulff dragged a rather unwilling Jane down the aisle as quickly as humanly possible, as if he was afraid I would get cold feet and run for the hills. Not that far fetched.

I only had eyes for Rori while I held Jane's hand. She returned my gaze with so much longing that I could feel my heart crumble. The agony in her dark blue eyes, the despair that blemished her features—she became a mirror of my own misery. Standing there with Jane felt like betraying her, failing her. I was sacrificing my own and Rori's happiness for the lives of the people of Amaranthine. It was the right thing to do, but it didn't feel right. Not at all.

I missed the whole sermon and only snapped out of my stupor when Teagan nudged my side.

"Huh?" I asked, blinking stupidly at the annoyed Grand Cleric.

"Alistair," she repeated unnervedly, "will you take Jane to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

I tore my gaze away from Rori and for the first time looked at Jane without much excitement. It wasn't her fault. She deserved better than a husband who didn't care. Guilt crushed me when I looked at her, loaded on top of the guilt I was burdened with for failing Rori. "I will," I sighed, desperately unhappy.

"Jane, will you take Alistair to be your husband?" the Grand Cleric went on, unmoved by the tragedy playing out in front of her. "Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Jane let go of my hands and cupped my face instead, looking me deep in the eyes. A sad little smile played across her lips, then she bent forward to kiss my brow ever so gently.

"Lady Jane?" the Grand Cleric urged impatiently.

Jane let go of me, straightened up, and her voice ringing out strong and clear, answered: "No, I will not!"

"Jane!" Wulff barked, jumping from his seat at the same time I went: "Huh?"

"Oh, shut up, father!" Jane snapped back as she stepped down into the aisle, taking off her bridal veil.

"But the kingdom needs a queen!" Eamon got up as well, both men blocking Jane's way out of the chapel.

"Very true," Jane answered. She turned on her heels, marching back down the aisle until she reached the bench where Rori sat all alone. Smiling at her, Jane placed her bridal veil on Rori's head before pulling the stunned girl to her feet and leading her down to the altar. "Here is your queen," she said, placing Rori's hand in mine.

"But..." Eamon began.

"She can't..." Wulff sputtered.

"Yes, she can!" Jane snapped. "They love each other! He's a good king, devoted to his kingdom. And she'll make a good queen. Maker's Breath, she was willing to give up her child, a child of love, for the sake of this kingdom. What more can you ask for? Nothing, I daresay. Everything else is about your own egoistic ambitions."

Silence.

Jane stood there with her arms akimbo, staring down Wulff and Eamon, her eyes gleaming with determination. Eamon's expression changed from angered to thoughtful. He slowly sat back down on his chair, leaving Wulff's side. The arl was so hopping mad he didn't even notice he had lost an ally.

"Jane," Wulff thundered as soon as he recovered from the shock of his daughter turning against him. "I am your father and I order you..." Wulff stormed towards the altar and ran straight into the solid wall of the golem's chest.

"Shame on you, father," Jane said sadly. "Don't you have any honor? For far too long I have watched you defile the name of our family. You wanted grandeur and influence, but all you do is drag our name through the dirt. Loghain, Anora, Franderel, haven't you learned your lesson from them? We have to stand together, not fight each other in times like these."

"She is right, Wulff," Eamon said solemnly. "We wanted to do what is best for the kingdom and lost sight of our cause, much like Loghain did when he stubbornly insisted Orlais was the true threat and ignored the darkspawn. We thought our king to be too weak to rule this nation without the guidance of his advisors, seeing ourselves as the real power behind the throne. We didn't see Maric's strength in him. Alistair, however, has proven us wrong. I daresay he could become an even greater king than his father. We have also looked down on Lady Cousland..." He paused and grimaced. "And though we might disagree with her on many things, though she might not be the queen we hoped for, she certainly has proven herself worthy."

Wulff looked as if he had been given something rotten to swallow. But with his daughter refusing to marry the king and without Eamon's support, he had to grin and bear it. Sure, it was a rather forced grin, but it was a grin just the same.

I couldn't believe this was happening. Neither could Rori. We stared at the assembled crowd in mere disbelief. "Pinch me," Rori muttered. "I must be dreaming." I pinched her, she pinched me and nothing happened save for Jane spinning around, glaring at the Grand Cleric. "Don't you have work to do?" she asked pointedly. The Grand Cleric didn't move, just stared slack-jawed at the young woman.

"Step aside then." Jane ushered the Grand Cleric out of her way. "I received the ordination to priesthood right before my father ordered me to leave the Chantry. I can very well perform the wedding ceremony myself. Does anybody object to keeping things short? No? Fine." Jane took her place at the altar and turned to me. I was still too stunned to even close my mouth. "Alistair, will you take Rori for your wife?" Jane asked briskly. I gaped at her in mere disbelief. "This is the moment when you say 'I will'," Jane prompted.

"For real?" I asked, my eyes wandering from my ex-bride to my now-bride, the borrowed veil sitting lopsidedly on her head, her cheeks smeared with tears, eyes wide with confusion.

"For real," Jane confirmed.

"Yes! I will!" I jubilated, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn't yet believe my luck. It felt like a dream. I felt like I was floating several inches above the ground. I looked around the room for someone to explain to me what was happening and caught Mrs. Couldry arm in arm with Leliana, both grinning like two cats that swallowed some really fat pigeons. Bards!

"Rori, will you take Alistair for your husband?" Jane asked, smiling broadly at the younger woman that had taken her place at my side.

"I will!" Rori cheered, bouncing up and down giddily. Laughter bubbled from her lips, a sound so sweet and joyous and golden like a sunny day. And then she pounced me, sending us both toppling down the stairs. She came to lie on top of me, crushing her lips against mine. I melted into her kiss and the world around us stopped to exist. It was Rori and I, a dream come true that I hadn't even dared to dream anymore. When we broke the kiss, gasping for air, we stayed there on the floor in front of the altar, my arms tightly wrapped around her, and I smiled against her lips.

That moment I was completely happy. Happiness engulfed me, it soaked me, filled me from head to toe. For this short moment, life was perfect.

Reality caught up with me pretty soon, though. There was no cake, no dance, no party. Just getting ready for battle and leaving in a hurry. I looked much like the walking dead—my eyes had sunken in during the weeks in coma, my skin was stretched tight across my bones, and I was relying solely on magic to keep me upright. Still, the evening of my wedding day I boarded Bann Angus Mac Eanraig's ship to sail me, my Denerim guards and Wulff's soldiers to Amaranthine.

Later that night when the ship was sailing along the coast, I slipped out of bed when Rori was fast asleep. I found Mrs. Couldry alone in the tiny galley, sipping tea.

"This was all your doing, wasn't it?" I asked, slumping down on a stool next to her when she offered me a cup of tea.

"What do you mean, son?" Mrs. Couldry said, regarding me innocently. She looked as if butter couldn't melt in her mouth but I knew better by now.

"Rori and I. You made this marriage happen."

"I'm only an old woman, son."

"Old woman my a..." I bit my tongue in time when Mrs. Couldry raised her ladle. "You cannot fool me. You planned it all from the beginning. You chose Jane from all the bachelorettes because you knew she didn't really want to marry me. But she would have never risen against her father just because of her own desires. You had to give her a reason and when you learned about Rori's pregnancy, you had the tool you needed. Thus you whispered to Wulff that now Rori was pregnant I would never marry Jane, and that even if I did, the baby with its claim to the throne would be a danger. You manipulated Wulff into forcing me and Rori to give up what we loved most, and that's how you turned Jane against him and at the same time made Eamon accept Rori as my queen. Am I right?"

Mrs. Couldry just smiled silently to herself.

"Blast yes, I am right!" I muttered.

"Language!" Mrs. Couldry shrieked and Bang! Bang! her wooden ladle went down on my head.

I just grinned as I rose from my chair and bent down to kiss her old wrinkled cheek. She blushed bright crimson and got all flustered. "Thank you," I smiled. And then I returned to my beloved wife.

Wife.

Wiiiiiiiiiife.

Now, didn't that sound wonderful?


	25. The Siege of Amaranthine Part 1

A storm was brewing when the MacEanraig fleet reached the harbor of Amaranthine, a grey sky looming over a grey wild churning sea, its storm-lashed waves pressing the ships against the quay. And that's where the first part of my plan went down the drain. The ship with Rori on board couldn't leave for Denerim. She was trapped in Amaranthine just like anybody else, with the darkspawn knocking down the front gates and the force of nature blocking the only way out across the sea.

And it got even better! The moment the ships arrived at the harbor, I realized Amaranthine was to become my Denerim 2.0. The plan had been to help with the defense of Amaranthine, like a reinforcement, you know. The very last thing I had intended to be was the very last hope of a city crammed with desperate and panic-stricken people and a whole lot of nasty darkspawn running amok.

"We cannot leave the harbor," Rori shouted at me over the howling storm. "The wind and waves will crush the ship against the cliffs."

"There's darkspawn in this city!" I retorted stubbornly, not willing to submit to something as insignificant as a hurricane. Rori was my love, my wife—and she was pregnant! I certainly wasn't going to let her get anywhere near the darkspawn. "Your uncle said he would sail you to Denerim!" And that was the only reason why I had given in when she said she wanted to accompany me. We both had been reluctant to leave each other after we finally were officially allowed to be together. I had believed her to be safe in Denerim while I was battling darkspawn. So, sailing on the same ship had seemed a win-win-situation; we could spend as much time together as possible before we parted—maybe for good.

"We hardly made it to Amaranthine!" Rori pointed out. "And the storm has only just begun. It gets stronger with every minute passing. We have to leave the ship before we get caught in a storm surge. It's either drowning here or facing the darkspawn out there."

"She's right, son," Angus MacEanraig droned in my ear.

Blast, I knew she was right! I hadn't grown up by the sea and my ancestors weren't the most infamous sea raiders of Ferelden, but living in a fishermen's village next to Ferelden's greatest lake had taught me a thing or two about the force of water. But I was also very aware of the danger that had crawled to the surface to spread death and pestilence.

"BLAST!" I roared in anger, despair and frustration, hammering first my fists then my head against the railing until Rori took my face in her hands and made me look her in the eyes. "You have no idea what is awaiting you in there," I groaned.

"No." she admitted, then added with an impish grin: "But I have you. And I have my swords and one hundred soldiers, my overprotective, oversized uncle, two formidable mages, a sly bard, one adamant golem, a faithful mabari, and a ladle-swinging granny. What could possibly go wrong?"

"You're right. What am I actually worried about? We've got Mrs. C. and her ladle!" I laughed when all I wanted to do was cry and pull out my hair and curse the Maker. But that would have brought Mrs. Couldry and her ladle into the arena and I for sure wasn't suicidal. No, not at all.

Yep, I could think of about a billion things that could go wrong. But what choice did I have? Amaranthine was surrounded by the sea and steep cliffs on three sides. With the rampaging hurricane, the only way out was through the city and thus, past the darkspawn.

"Marvellous," I sighed, failing miserably in sounding as carefree and light-hearted as I had intended as I wearily leaned against the railing at the sight of the city and the horde of darkspawn glaring at us from the pier. They snarled and growled and hissed threateningly. The MacEanraig sea raiders roared in reply, banging their weapons against their shields. "Burning houses, darkspawn everywhere, corpses littering the streets, the taint spreading like wildfire... The only thing missing is the archdemon," I shouted into Rori's ear.

All Rori had to say when she saw the mess was: "I love you." And then she grabbed me by the collar of my armor and kissed me right there in front of everybody and their dog. I wrapped my arms around her to hold her tight, cursing the barrier of the blasted armor between us and for once not giving a damn about the audience. Closing my eyes, I shut anything out but Rori, the softness of her lips, the velvety sensation of her kiss, the faint scent of verbena. We both were aware that this could be our very last kiss. And yet it was a promise, a vow that death would not part us today. I could sense it in her stance, in the way she held on to me, in the fierceness of her kiss. Stubbornly she raised a claim daring death to deny her what rightfully belonged to her. The Grim Reaper would have to get past a grim ginger first to get me. And although the situation was as bad as can be—to be exact it probably was even worse—but when confronted with certain death, an unhealthy dose of self-deceit is the only thing that keeps you going. My bet was on Rori.

By the time we breathlessly broke the kiss, she had convinced me that we indeed stood a chance if only we were courageous enough to take it. That's the "Rori effect." Even when in the very center of a disaster, beyond all expectations she mulishly persists. So much stubborn persistence rubs off eventually. There's no way to resist it.

"The city is lost!" Wulff bellowed in my ear to make himself heard above the storm right when I— thanks to Rori—had managed to persuade myself everything was going to be alright. I pretended not to hear him. I couldn't afford such a defeatist attitude. Ferelden would have been wiped off the face of Thedas if Suri or I or any of our companions—minus Sten and Shale—had ever thought of anything as lost before it was truly as dead as a gryphon. So, instead of arguing with Wulff, I tried to give an encouraging speech, only to find my words carried away by the wind. "Blast it," I muttered and opted for the all-time favorite battle cry of all patriots instead as soon as the gangway hit solid ground: "FOR FERELDEN!" My cry was answered by a hundred throats before we all lunged into battle, meeting the darkspawn awaiting us at the pier.

Fiona and Wynne roasted the first row of attackers. Another half a dozen was bodysplashed by Shale when she jumped off the gangway. I charged across it, using its massive body as a bridge. The magic circling through my system made me bristle with energy. At the same time, I could sense my body's weariness. Still, I struck and parried, brought my sword down on the heads and shoulders of my enemies, pummeled them with my shield. Behind me, the MacEanraig soldiers flooded the pier. Rori was amongst them. Mrs. Couldry, too.

The confidence Rori had given me was swept away the very moment I had to watch the darkspawn attack her. I did my best to protect her, but there were just too many of them to block every blow directed her way. It didn't feel right to have her fight next to me. Then, after some time, I figured out that being next to me was the most dangerous place to be. Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn and they can sense us. A Grey Warden amongst darkspawn is like a red rag to a bull. So, they kept coming for me and I had to put as much distance between Rori and me as I could to keep her out of the danger zone.

Just marvelous!

Rori shouldn't have been on the battlefield at all, but since it was too dangerous to enter the city and too dangerous to stay on board the ship, it was literally the choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. So once again I prayed to the Maker I would be able to protect her. And once again I was scared out of my mind that I would lose her.

For Rori the sentiment for sure was mutual. She had begged me not to go to Amaranthine, but I had insisted. I had begged her to stay at West Hill, but she had insisted. And now we both wished we had listened to the other. We could have been sitting in West Hill, drinking tea—or more likely... licking lampposts. Next time, someone please remind me trying to be a good king will only get me into deep shit trouble—preferably before I charge right into said deep shit trouble.

"I will protect the Queen with my life if need be, your Majesty," Fiona vowed with grim determination at my obvious distress. She and Wynne acted like a dear aunt and granny around me. I knew from Wynne she had a son that was taken away from her and handed over to the Chantry. Perhaps it was the same with Fiona.

"I don't intend to make you deliver on your promise," Rori muttered, not sounding as poised as she wanted me to believe. What she lacked in confidence she made up with stubborn determination. She had decided none of us would die today, so none of us would die. Fact. "But thanks anyway."

"Nobody will sacrifice themselves for anybody or anything," I growled, gripping my sword tighter. "The only ones dying today are the darkspawn." Oh Maker, please, please let it only be darkspawn.

We hadn't expected to invade an already invaded city. Within all the chaos, the best option we had to get some information was to seek it from the person in charge: Bann Esmerelle. She and I weren't exactly besties—unless there's something like best foes. Bestoes, haha. Um, anyway, she was a Franderel supporter and things hadn't changed a bit with the scoundrel's death.

Still, we fought our way through the city in chaos, through mud and the pouring rain, through darkspawn and ghouls towards the castle—only to find it shut down. So much for information, help, or the possibility to drop Rori there for her own safety. On a second thought, leaving her with Esmerelle sounded as bad an option as darkspawn or drowning...

A crowd, driven by fear, despair, and fury, had gathered at the gates of the castle, drumming against the solid wood with bare fists, people pressing in from behind, squishing the ones at the front as the darkspawn were breathing down their necks. The soldiers on the walls fired arrows at the people and the darkspawn alike, stones rained down on their heads, driving the people away from the gates and right onto the blades of the darkspawn. They had nowhere to go. Death followed them wherever they turned. When face to face with the darkspawn, for many a stone bashing their skulls in seemed the lesser of two evils.

We made short work of the darkspawn because that's what we were there for and afterwards exchanged some niceties with Bann Esmerelle. You probably remember me saying that the good thing about the Blight is how this threat brings people together, right? And that was probably the reason why Bann Esmerelle—one of Franderel's supporters and the person responsible for the assassination of the Warden Commander—had barricaded herself and her soldiers in her castle as soon as the news of an approaching darkspawn horde had reached her ears and the storm had thwarted her plans of just boarding a ship to flee from the city, abandoning her people. Now she personally appeared on the wall with an elven maid to carry her umbrella so she wouldn't get wet from the rain to inform me that I was not her king. Charming, eh?

"You have no power here, mongrel," Esmerelle hissed. "I do not yield to your orders. You call yourself a king, but you will never in any way be kingly. You're exactly where you belong right now, in the gutter amongst the scum you came from!"

"No problem," I shot back. "I'm more the king-of-the-people type anyway. That's why I am down here defending the men, women, and children of Amaranthine, while you are up there throwing stones at helpless people."

"How dare you!?" Esmerelle shrieked while her maid fought to keep the umbrella in place despite the storm threatening to rip it from her hands. "You aren't the rightful king."

"You repeat yourself and while you spit insults at me your people die. This is not the right time for rivalry. We have to stand together and unite against the real enemy and save the city and its people." I tried to argue with common sense and reason. Naive, I know.

"The city can be rebuilt, and there are more people than we can feed anyway. What do I care if they die? I can hold this fortress forever and from the safety of its towers watch your defeat," Esmerelle gloated. Having fought bravely, her maid lost control over the umbrella, it was torn from her hands and blown away. Within seconds Esmerelle was drenched. "You stupid bitch!" she snapped, slapping the elf so hard across the face the poor girl was thrown against the battlement, covering her head with her hands for protection as Esmerelle's fists drummed down on her.

"Esmerelle!" I shouted furiously. "Leave her alone!" I don't get why so many nobles believe it to be their statutory right to mistreat their servants, especially when they are elves. It's totally beyond me. Again. Some people call me naive. Some say I'm an irredeemable fool. They're probably right. I will never understand this.

"What is it with you and the knife-ears?" Esmerelle spat at me. "You surround yourself with them, you share your bed with them. I wonder, are you one of their mutts? Do you plan to overthrow the human race?"

"Right now I'm trying to save it, starting with the people of Amaranthine. Just in case you haven't yet noticed, there's darkspawn murdering all the citizens: human, elven, dwarven. Men or women. Young and old. Poor or rich. They do not discriminate."

"Oh, now he's preaching!" Esmerelle mocked me, shoving the poor elven maid so hard the girl lost balance and toppled over the battlement. With a startled cry of pure horror she fell, crushing on the ground, her body twisted. Unimpressed, Esmerelle went on, dispensing her venom: "You're some Orlesian whore's bastard, useless street waste..."

Whatever else she had to say was drowned by the furious uproar from the frenzied crowd. It had been hard to keep them under control while I was arguing with Esmerelle, even harder to calm them when the bann had condemned them to die, marking them insignificant. Now, with the death of the maid, the public anger broke lose. I didn't believe for a single second most of them gave a damn about the elf herself. She had become a symbol of their own fate, something to be thrown away like waste when seen as useless. That moment even they didn't give a damn if I was or wasn't Maric's son. I was their king because I was right there in the heat of the battle to defend them—thus why they did not try again to break down the gates. I was here now to do the dirty work. "Hail King Alistair!" cries didn't sit well with Esmerelle and she completely lost her nerve. "Shoot him!" she screamed at her soldiers. "Shoot him!" Hesitatingly the archers raised their bows, arrows knocked. "SHOOT HIM! That is an order! Obey! I will have you hanged! This is treachery!" The bowmen still didn't react and I held my own men back.

"Indeed, it is," I confirmed, my hand resting on Fiona's shoulder to stop her from frying the bann-bitch. The mage was bristling with anger, hissing insults under her breath. Rori was equally agitated and didn't give a damn about keeping her voice low. I had to shush her to make myself heard. Why didn't I rid the world of her? Maker, believe me, I was tempted! But that's not how just and wise kings work, you see. When you want others to abide by the moral standards you set, you cannot just jettison them whenever it suits you. That's what makes being the good guy so incredibly exhausting and unnerving. I am told it is worth the effort. I cannot yet confirm it's true.

"You cannot sit in there forever," I informed Esmerelle coolly when I rather would have had her spiked with arrows. "As soon as I am done with saving Amaranthine, I'll come for you, mark my words."

"You will not live to see me defeated!" Esmerelle screeched, grabbed a bow and arrow from the nearest archer and aimed. "DIE, YOU BAS..."

THUD! SPLASH!

A huge stone sat where Esmerelle had stood only seconds ago. Next to me the golem dusted off its hands. "Strike!" it droned triumphantly.

"Err... but... did you... you... you killed her!" I gasped, trying hard not to let my glee show. Rori didn't exercise as much restraint. Actually, none at all when she grabbed an equally gleeful Fiona by her hands and danced her around, singing: "Ding-dong, the bitch is dead!" Once the crowd had recovered from their shock, they joined in, cheering and jubilating about the death of their liege.

Haha! My sentiments exactly. Mental note to myself: Invite Shale for the traditional duck hunting this year as a treat.

"You flesh creatures waste too much time on useless blah blah blah," Shale grunted. "The problem is solved now, isn't it?" I couldn't possibly argue about that. Too bad Shale planned to leave with Wynne soon. The golem had a special talent as a trouble shooter. "Does it want me to shoot down the rest of them, too?" It picked up a rock and twirled it around at the tip of its index finger.

"Err, no, I believe they just volunteered to help defend the city," I hurried to say. Miraculously, the gates of the castle indeed swung open, the soldiers marched out, the people sought refuge inside and then we all happily got together to kill some darkspawn. I had to pinch myself to actually believe it.

I briefly considered parking Rori at the castle, a possible safe harbor in all this chaos, death, and destruction. With Esmerelle dead my biggest foe was gone, but that didn't mean I suddenly had become everybody's darling. For example, Esmerelle's family now appearing on the wall, trying to roll the rock off their dead mother, certainly wouldn't send me birthday cards with best wishes.

"Don't you even think about leaving me here," Rori hissed just when I was trying to figure out how many guards I would have to leave back to protect her.

"Who? Me? Never!" I laughed, nervously running my fingers through my hair.

Onward we went through the havocked city. More dead, more desperate, a whole lot more darkspawn—and pillagers. We rounded a corner and almost stumbled over a group of almost thirty young men loaded with jewelry and expensive-looking furniture, clothes, pots, pans and whatever else they could carry. Whereto they wanted to flee with all those things when the darkspawn were both at their heels and around the next corner was totally beyond me. Some of the rightful owners defended their belongings against the pillagers, endangering their own lives over a painting or a bedside table. We ended up rescuing the pillagers and the citizens from their own stupidity and from the darkspawn. You'd think they would be somewhat grateful with their lives saved and such. Haha, keep dreaming. You know nothing about human nature. I don't know about you, but sometimes I wonder why I make the effort at all.

At least all that trouble made for a real warm welcome as soon as we arrived at the gates where the city guard and Grey Wardens had gathered their remaining forces.

"Alistair, my royal friend, I had never thought to be glad to see you again."

"The sentiment is mutual, Zevran." I tried very hard to sound stern and unforgiving but couldn't help grinning foolishly. Somehow I was glad to see that murderous bastard made it through the Joining. I still hadn't forgiven him for his betrayal, but he was a Grey Warden now. Duncan had always said whatever a man was before, when he became a Grey Warden he started a new life, leaving his past behind.

"HA! Shave my ass and call me a nug! Whatcha doing here, lad?" Oghren slapped the small of my back so hard I toppled over and would have landed in the gutter if not for Angus MacEanraig. That man was a giant. It was hard to believe he and tiny Rori were relatives. "You look worse than that walking Justice corpse."

"But our royal corpse here smells better," Zevran said merrily. "Ahh, it's a long story," he chuckled at my obvious confusion. "Alas, I doubt we have the time to tell it. We're on our own facing the worst evil that has ever walked the face of Thedas—ahh, just like the good old days!"

"YIPPIE!" I cheered. "Easy is for wimps!"

"HA! Finally you've become a man," Oghren grunted proudly. "You still don't look like one, though, with that face as naked as a nug's arse. But it's a start."

"So glad you approve, Oghren," I remarked dryly. "So, can anybody tell me what happened?" I asked, joining the other Wardens and a remarkably devastated constable. Exhaustion and hopelessness had edged sharp lines on his skin.

"I am glad that you arrived when you did, but I am afraid there is little that can be done now," the man reported to a dark-haired Warden with somewhat familiar features. "A couple of nights ago a swarm of... of gruesome creatures emerged from beneath the city. They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched. Then, at dawn, the other darkspawn attacked. It's too late. Amaranthine is lost."

"Oh for the love of Lady Andraste!" I snapped. Maker's Breath! All I asked for was a little bit of confidence! Really, I even would have been content with a bit more self-deceit. But all I got wherever I went was: The city is lost! We are lost! Our last hour has come! This is the end! Doom! Imagine what would have happened if I had chickened out of this whole Blight thing like that when I stood in front of Flemeth's hut! I was sick and tired of people whining about what couldn't be done and about the blasted darkspawn tearing down my kingdom when I for sure had better things to do—like stopping the blasted nobility from tearing down my kingdom instead. "I did not leave Denerim to its fate, and I will not abandon Amaranthine. We are Fereldans. We don't just back down when the going gets tough. We defeated the archdemon and ended the Fifth Blight with no more than three Grey Wardens; we certainly won't chicken out on its minions! I have come here to save Amaranthine and failure is no fucking option!"

BANG! BANG! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. "Language!"

"Ow! You ruined the effect of my speech!" I complained, rubbing my head.

"King Alistair?" the familiar looking Warden asked.

"Present," I confirmed.

"You killed my father," the man remarked, "Arl Howe."

"So let me guess: Now you want to kill me?" I sighed.

"No."

"Oh? Really? Wow. That's new."

"He deserved everything he got, Nate," Rori croaked, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her tears.

"I know. And I am sorry, though my apology probably doesn't mean anything to you." he shrugged helplessly.

"You're damn right it doesn't," Rori hissed, tears now welling up in her eyes. She blinked them away angrily, then wiped her snotty nose at her sleeve. Grinning I offered her my handkerchief. "I know it's not your fault, Nate. You weren't even there. And I'm probably being mean, but I can't... I just can't... Maybe one day..."

Nate Howe nodded slowly. "When I returned to Ferelden, it was for revenge. But I have come to realize my father deserved to die. All I can hope for is to atone for my father's sins somehow, someday... though I don't even know where to begin."

"Saving Amaranthine would be a start," I suggested. "But we should get started at once, or there won't be anything left for us to save." I turned to the constable who had sunken to his knees to tell him to stand. "I don't say it will be easy, but we have done this sort of thing before, at Denerim." I didn't mention the siege of Denerim had been an act of raw despair and that we hadn't had the slightest idea how to win that fight. We had just run in and hoped beyond hope that we somehow would get out of it alive and still kicking.

"Yes, your Majesty," the constable answered and indeed there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Straightening his shoulders and throwing off the weariness that had weighed him down, he shouted orders at his remaining men, and we hastily began to develop a plan. Nobody even mentioned abandoning the city anymore. And then it all poofed! when a single, remarkably ugly Hurlock in remarkably impressive armor approached. I had seen darkspawn wearing all kinds of rags and their armor hardly deserved that name. But this one, it almost seemed as if it wanted to appear... human. And surprise, surprise, it talked.

"Peace!" it called out when the constable ordered the archer to take it down. "Do not be killing me! Only talk!"

"Peace my ass," Rori muttered. My sentiments exactly.

"I don't like this," Fiona murmured. Ditto.

"Architect has a message, for Grey Warden!" the darkspawn went on when I lifted my hand to signal he was not yet to be shot.

"FUCK!" Fiona breathed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Hm, yeah, quite an apt summary of our situation.

"Ah, our dear friend, the Architect," Zevran said merrily. On the outside, nothing about him gave the tension away. But I had known him for long enough to know the difference between merry Zevran and merry Zevran. Whatever had happened during their encounter with the so-called Architect, Zevran had a bone to pick with him. "We've had our fill of his hospitality. I daresay it's about time to return the favor."

"Aye!" Oghren droned. "Sodding bastard took us captive and fumbled around on us. Tests, he called it. Perverted nug-humper! I say let's cut the messenger's head off and send it back to the Architect bastard."

"Brilliant idea!" I grinned. "And who is going to go to bring him the head? You?"

"The blasted messenger of course!" Oghren grunted as if talking to a complete idiot. Ah, you just gotta love that dwarf.

"Fine, that's what we'll do," I laughed. "First, I want to hear that message, though." I turned to the Hurlock. "Say what you have to say, but make it snappy."

Once sure it would not be shot right away, the darkspawn approached. "The Mother's army, it marches to Vigil's Keep."

Another darkspawn army? Doom! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! I guess it was time now to run in circles, pull our hair out and scream: "We're all lost!" Unfortunately, that's not what wise and just kings do. Instead, they act cool and try to make everybody believe they have everything under control and all will be well.

"Who in the name of the Maker is the Mother?" I wondered out loud instead of starting to wail and throw myself in the dust and drum my fists on the ground. It seemed like a reasonable question. All assembled Grey Wardens shrugged. Splendid!

"I assume whatever it is, it will be extremely unpleasant," a mage with a pony tail and a cat sitting on top of his head complained sullenly.

"Undoubtedly." I agreed.

"She attacks now! The Architect, he sends me to warn you." the Hurlock went on.

"How very sweet of him," I remarked dryly. "And who, if I may ask, is responsible for attacking Amaranthine? The Architect? The Mother? The Brother perhaps? Or the Construction Manager?" Confused, the darkspawn stared at me. "It's a joke," I sighed. "It's funny. Haha, you see?"

"You are a strange man, Grey Warden," the Hurlock observed, obviously heckled. It frowned to remember its speech. "You must save the keep! Then finish the Mother in her lair!"

"Aha, and why should I do like a darkspawn tells me?" I wondered aloud.

"The Grey Wardens are valuable to the Architect," the Hurlock explained. "The Mother, she knows this!"

Okay, and that right there was the reason why I for sure wouldn't go running to Vigil's Keep. I've been regarded as a puppet so often that by now I know when someoneis trying to use and manipulate me. "Fine, so if the Architect cares so much about the Wardens and is so eager to get rid of the Mother, why doesn't he send his own army to take care of this problem, hm?"

"You don't intend to go back, Warden?" the Hurlock asked, completely lost now.

"Me? No. See this city at my back?" I nodded towards Amaranthine. "There's hordes of darkspawn here to slay. I won't let them down."

"But the keep!" Howe Jr. gasped in shock. "What about the keep?"

Of course I couldn't abandon Vigil's Keep. Not solely because of the few Wardens still there. You maybe don't know what castles are for. Yeah, they are large, expensive, and often rather cold and uncomfortable homes to nobles. But besides all that, they are also there to protect the people living close by. So when there's danger, like, let's say a huge darkspawn army approaching, the villagers flee to the safety of the castle and expect the lord of said castle to protect them. So, Vigil's Keep at this very moment was crammed with men, women, and children from the surrounding farms and villages. They were trapped there.

I also couldn't abandon the citizens of Amaranthine for the same reason. This was my kingdom, my people, and I did not want to be forced to make a choice between whose lives mattered more. So, I somehow had to save them all. But how? There was no Warden Commander and I was the only senior Warden left. I couldn't be everywhere. I had to... delegate. My eyes fell on the assembled Wardens. One looked as if he had been dead several weeks. Ugh. Then there were Oghren and Zev, Howe Jr. and the mage with the cat hat...

Suddenly I could hear Morrigan's voice sneer as loud and clear as if she were standing next to me. "Once the Wardens flourished, their ranks full, their caliber certain. Now they even accept people like them."

Yeah, well, you have to take what you can get. It didn't make my decision any easier. For a moment I was tempted to decide by a counting rhyme, then I opted for the known instead. At least I could be real sure about what I would get that way.

"Oghren, you've been promoted. Congrats! You're now Warden Commander of Ferelden." Yep, that's what raw desperation looks like.

Oghren stared at me in mere disbelief. "For the love of nugs and idiot children, you either got shit for brains or I really have to clean my ears. I think I just heard you say you want me to be Warden Commander!" He stuck a finger in his left ear and wiggled around forcefully, then regarded with utmost interest what he had dug up.

"No, really, I believe in you and your... abilities," I assured the dwarf and myself.

"Shit for brains," Oghren diagnosed. My sentiments exactly but really, did I have any better choice?

"Howe, you're second in command. This is your chance to clear the your name. Well, at least it's a start. Go to Vigil's Keep. Take all of the Wardens and half of my soldiers with you," I ordered in my best kingly voice. "The rest will stay to defend Amaranthine. Now take the messenger captive. And then let's kick some darkspawn asses!"


	26. The Siege of Amaranthine Part 2

Zevran at once went for the messenger and dragged it away to lock it up until I knew what to do with it... him... whatever. Meanwhile, the other Wardens prepared for their departure with Oghren bellowing orders at them and burping in between—and when Zevran finally returned they were long gone.

"Brasca, it seems I am always late," he sighed. "Now I miss all the fun of seeing my little friend Oghren in action as Warden Commander."

"Aww, don't be sad, Zevran," I teased, though I wasn't too thrilled to be loaded with the assassin. I mean, he had tried to murder me! "Instead you can watch me in action as king."

"You're right, my royal friend, that could prove as interesting—if not even more," the elf chuckled.

"Just don't you try to murder me again!" I growled. I trusted Zevran as far as I could throw him, but he was a Grey Warden now, I had made sure of that. There was a bond between us now that no one, not even darkspawn, could tear asunder. Or so I hoped.

"What? With all the darkspawn around to do the job? That would be such a waste of my precious skills and time," Zevran laughed but the laughter stuck in his throat when he found himself face to face with Mrs. Couldry, slapping her ladle into her palm repeatedly. Then she squinted her eyes, pointed two fingers sharply at Zevran, then at her eyes.

"Haven't you yet learnt your lesson, son?" she demanded to know, and for once, Zevran didn't know what to say. No saucy joke, no foppish remark. He just hung his head and shifted his feet uncomfortably, unable to look Mrs. Couldry in the eyes. Sometimes sorry just seems to be the hardest work. Not that a simple "sorry" could have made up for Zevran's crimes but, well, it would have been a start. At least Mrs. Couldry would keep an eye on him—her ladle at the ready.

My strength was fading with every breath I took. I felt like breaking down any moment and still I kept fighting, driven on by magic. Despite the spells, I became slower and wearier, my blows less precise, my perception dulled. I began to drag my feet and slump my shoulders, unable to straighten up and be the king everybody expected me to be. As the day wore on, we fought our way through the storm-beaten and war-ridden city, clearing the streets and alleys, houses and warehouses and even the damn ratruns from darkspawn and ghouls like super vermin exterminators.

We lost several soldiers, Rori was in lethal danger more often than I could possibly endure. My nerves were on edge, I was dizzy and nauseous.

The worst, though, was killing the infected people. It's the only possible way to stop the pestilence from spreading and it also is an act of mercy, saving them from a terrible death in agony. Still, I never will get used to killing the innocent. Their faces will haunt me for as long as I live.

And just when I thought the day could not have gotten worse, we entered the marketplace and found ourselves kettled up by Bann Esmerelle's rather short son Doyle, her daughter Glenda—towering over her brother despite him wearing high-heels to compensate his lack of height— andtheir remaining loyal soldiers on one side, and a darkspawn mob led by the biggest Hurlock I had ever seen on the other. Within a heartbeat, we were heavily outnumbered.

Awesome!

"There he is! The Orlesian usurper! He murdered my mother!" Doyle shrieked in his high-pitched voice, his face contorted to a mask of pure hatred as he pointed at me. Splendid! He hadn't left the safety of the castle to help the citizens of his city against the darkspawn, but he came out of his lair to seek revenge when I was almost done with doing his dirty work.

"Warden! It ends here and now! Prepare to die," roared the Hurlock Alpha at the same time.

"Maker! How I hate these queue-jumpers! Can't they politely wait in line for once until it's their turn?" I complained while Angus MacEanraig shouted orders at his soldiers to form a circle. Rori was shoved into the middle and told to keep her head low.

"Lord Doyle!" While the Hurlock grouched for my undivided attention, I called out to the enraged noble, causing Shale to heave a heavy sigh and mumble something about flesh creatures wasting their breath. "You're right," I reconsidered my will to parley. Fuck wise and just!

"Of course I am right," Shale snorted, lifting a whole market stall off the ground.

"WARDEN!" the Hurlock thundered.

"Hold up, for fuck's sake!" I shouted back while the golem balanced the market stall over its head, searching for the right aim. "A little bit more to the left," I advised. "Not that much, yes, perfect. Fire!"

THUD! SPLASH! and all that was still visible of Doyle were his feet sticking out from under the market stall. He wore red high-heeled shoes and black and white striped socks.

"Maker's Breath! They say there's no accounting for taste, but look at those shoes!" Leliana shuddered and added with ardor and conviction: "He deserved to die! Red was last season's color! It's so out of fashion now!"

Before Leliana could start a debate on principles of fashion, Glenda of Amaranthine, Doyle's sister, lifted herself of the ground—she had only escaped the market stall by inches—and, at the sight of her now squished brother, shouted: "Murderer! Kill him! Kill him!" And that set her soldiers in motion while at the other side, the Hurlock sounded the charge, tired of waiting for my acceptance of his personal man-to-Hurlock-challenge. What about 'Hold up!' was so damn hard to understand?

Things immediately got nasty. Our line of defense broke up within seconds and I was separated from my guards and companions and—worst of all—from Rori. My body was close to collapsing. Even magic had its limits. But with Rori in danger, I still fought like a maniac, searching for her in the chaos of the raging battle.

"RORI!" I shouted over the noise of the battle, crushing in heads and cutting down my enemies. I trampled over their fallen bodies, stepped on heads and limbs in my frantic search for my wife. To find Shale was pretty easy. It was taller than anybody else on the battlefield. Well, minus that ogre over there. That indeed was taller than even the golem. "RORI!" Leliana, Wynne, Fiona, and Mrs. Couldry had sought cover inside a market stall. Leliana precisely fired her arrows, Wynne and Fiona fired their spells and Mrs. C. beat everybody over the head who made the mistake of getting within reach of her ladle. "ROOOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIII!"

All that shouting of course drew attention. The kind of attention I didn't want.

"WARDEN!" the Hurlock Alpha bellowed, blocking my way.

"Later!" I snapped, because right then I spotted Rori, kicking and squirming as she was dragged away by Glenda and three of her guards. They rushed down an alley with a dozen darkspawn chasing them. I pushed past the Hurlock to hurry after Rori. The Hurlock snarled angrily, throwing his jagged blade at me. I was saved by my inability to walk straight. Swaying like a drunken sailor as the magic fled my weakened body, I avoided the attack with the certainty of a sleepwalker. The blade swished over my head when I stumbled over my own feet and slammed into the mud. Scrambling back to my feet I accidentally crashed my skull against the Hurlock's chin, sneaking up on me from behind. The pain exploding in my skull couldn't stop me from staggering after Rori. I bumped into walls and carts and boxes, swaying from side to side. The last few meters I even crawled on hands and knees to catch up with Rori.

The Alpha Hurlock had rushed past me while I had laid in the gutter, half-hidden under a cart. Glenda, finding herself cornered by darkspawn, still didn't let go of Rori. Holding a knife to her throat, she shouted orders at her guards while dragging her captive down a dark alley. "Don't get any closer or I will kill your precious wife!" Glenda shrieked when I tried to sneak past the darkspawn. My chances were slim anyway with being a Grey Warden, but now, all attention was on Alistair.

"Kill him!" Glenda shrieked, waving her knife my direction. "Kill heeeeee-owww-gurgle-urgh..." Rori struck the knife from Glenda's hand with one swift blow, twisted out of her hold on her hair, twirled round and punched the bitch straight in the face. Glenda staggered backwards, clutching her bleeding nose. She was sent down with another swift kick.

"Run!" I shouted at Rori and run she did—just not away like I had intended, but instead to my aid. Doom! DOOOOOM! "Wrong way!" I spluttered although honestly, I could have done with some help as the Hurlock currently had me in a headlock when Rori crashed against him. She was unarmed but for Glenda's knife, but the impact of the blade still made the Hurlock let go of me. I dropped to the ground like dead weight. Maker, I consisted of nothing but pain from head to toe and inside out. The exhaustion made me dizzy. Everything went black whenever I tried to get back to my feet.

The Hurlock had turned to Rori, towering over her. She didn't retreat a single step and when he roared at her, showering her with spittle, she just roared right back at him. It sounded like a kitten meowing at a lion. Then the Hurlock came after her. She was lithesome and quick, dodging the darkspawn's brutal attacks. One blow could have easily cut her in half, her own swift cuts hardly piercing the Hurlock's armor. As I couldn't get up, I crawled, hugging the darkspawn's knees from behind as he lunged forward at Rori. With a loud thud, the Hurlock slammed into the ground. Rori jumped at him, her blade risen for the fatal strike when she caught sight of a movement in her back and swirled around to meet Glenda's blade, metal scratching against metal.

"BITCH!" Glenda shrieked, hacking at Rori, blinded by fury. The darkspawn blade in her hands was too heavy for her and ill-balanced, yet her anger lent her strength. Rori danced around her, avoiding the whirling blade while she tried to find an opening. Meanwhile I clung to the Hurlock's feet as if my life depended on it. He snarled and kicked, half-turning to stab at me. I had to let go, rolling to the side to get out of reach. I was still pulling myself back to my feet by a pile of abandoned furniture when Rori sidestepped Glenda's furious charge and made her stumble right onto the Hurlock's blade. Grunting, he shook the woman off his weapon, kicking her body aside as he went after Rori. The remaining four darkspawn had cut down Glenda's soldiers and were now kettling up Rori. She leapt out of their midst with a summersault, a desperate escape that had her lose her only weapon. The Hurlock jumped after her, lashing out and scraping her leg. She lost balance and stumbled, the Hurlock went after her without hesitation.

Fighting the nausea and the dizziness, I shoved myself off the table I was holding on to, and dragging my sword behind me—lifting it was totally beyond me—shouted at insults at the Hurlock as I staggered towards him.

"Hey! You want a Warden? Here I am, you bronto-assfaced bastard!"

It worked. Of course it did. Wardens and darkspawn. Worst enemies ever, remember? And just when the Hurlock snorted like an angry bull and turned his ugly red eyes on me, I caught sight of a slender figure in the shadows, leaning against a wall casually as he was cleaning his fingernails with his dagger.

"Zevran!" I shouted. "Save Rori!"

Only Zevran didn't move. He just stood there and watched as the huge Hurlock slammed into me, the body impact sending me to the ground. Mud seeped into my armor and strangely my only thought when I saw the Hurlock towering above me, rising his sword over his head to run me through with one mighty strike was: "Boy, Arlington is going to be pissed when he has to clean your armor from the inside."

The Hurlock's blade came down, boring into the ground an inch next to my right ear. He had missed! How could he possibly have missed when I was there right in front of him?

The answer was sitting on the Hurlock's shoulders, a red-haired frenzied little imp, digging her fingers into the screaming Hurlock's eyes while holding on to him with her legs locked around his neck. Roaring furiously, he tore at Rori's hands, bucked and bolted as he tried to throw her off. Rori stayed where she was, clinging on to him as if her life depended on it. Not that far-fetched. I didn't want to be in her place when he finally got rid of and then hold of her. In the end, he let himself drop on his back, forcing Rori to summersault off. She landed hard on her hurt leg, the certain flash of pain almost knocking her out.

Zevran, in the meanwhile, had been forced to enter the battle as the alpha's minions identified him as a Grey Warden and attacked him. He cut them down, then returned to leaning against the wall while enjoying the show of Rori and me being picked apart. Blood filling his eyes blinded the Hurlock, his hands grabbing thin air when he searched for Rori, crawling away on her hands and knees. Not able to find her, he turned back to me. Thanks to me being a Grey Warden, he could have spotted me in the pitch black darkness of the Deep Roads without a map and a torch, so it was no surprise when his hands closed around my ankles.

"Zevran! Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeev-raaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!" I shouted at him again when the Hurlock picked me up and swung me like a dead cat. I flew past the blasted assassin when the darkspawn let go and for the briefest moment before I slammed into the wall beside him, our eyes met.

I would have expected glee, thirst for revenge, fury, hatred... but what I saw was uncertainty. A maelstrom of different emotions was displayed on Zevran's face. His usual mask of nonchalance and merriness wiped off, his expression gave away how torn he was between for once doing the right thing and getting the revenge he longed for.

"Zev," I gasped, my breath rattling in my lungs. Tears of pain were filling my eyes. I could feel my body collapse. There was no strength left I could have mustered. This was the end. Zevran was my very last hope. But the assassin had stepped out of the way to make room for the Hurlock. "Suri... think of Suri..."

Pausing, Zevran looked back at me, a miserable figure on the ground. He opened his mouth to give me a piece of his mind but closed it again, shaking his head. His fingers flexed over the hilt of his sword as he watched the Hurlock approach slowly. "Suri," he muttered, closing his eyes as a shadow of grief cast over his features. When he opened his eyes again he glared at me unnerved, as if I was a nuisance he would have gladly gotten rid of but found himself loaded with nonetheless.

"Think... of... Suri..." I repeated weakly, my voice croaked and hardly audible. Suri was the love Zevran and I shared. She would have never let me die like this and she would have never forgiven Zevran if he did. I knew, Zevran knew. I just hoped he gave a damn. "Suri..."

"Brasca!" Zevran cursed, turning his back on me and the Hurlock abruptly. He took one step to walk away, then whirled round to take two in my direction.

"Suri... Suri... Suri..." I kept whispering as the shadow of the Hurlock fell upon me. I could hear Rori scream, felt the whiff of the blade brought down on me on my heated skin. My mind was empty. I was too exhausted, too drained to even feel regret or worry. I closed my eyes and sunk back to the ground, awaiting death to come.

Instead there was the sound of metal scraping against metal—and against the tip of my admittedly rather prominent nose—the Hurlock's furious roar, answered by the assassin's mocking laughter.

Huh? Daringly I opened one eye, then the second.

"For Suri, Alistair, only for her!" Zevran shouted when he attacked the Hurlock with whirling blades, every motion graceful like a dance. The Hurlock was heavier, slower and wounded. Zevran jumped forward, slicing his daggers across his opponents wrist or stabbing quickly at a weak spot in his armor. It was like watching a cat toy with a mouse. A gigantic, ugly, mutant mouse. With every blow, Zevran called out: "For Suri!" channeling all his fury and grief into the fight. The Hurlock roared, madly hacking at Zevran without hitting home. The elf was always one step ahead.

"Alistair!" Rori, having snuck past the fighters, knelt beside me, grimacing at the pain in her leg. Maker's Breath! Words cannot describe how glad and relieved I was to see her. She was covered in mud and gore; blood trickled down the side of her face from a gash in her forehead. "Oh, you look terrible! More dead than alive. Don't move!"

"You have such a charming way of complimenting me, Puck," I coughed. "I won't move. I promise. But you, you have to get away from here..."

"Forget it, Alistair!" Rori cut me short as she cradled my head in her lap, gently running her fingers through my hair. "I won't leave you alone!" I just didn't have the strength or breath left to argue with her. I tried glaring her down, but failed miserably. The way she looked at me, the sadness in her tear-filled eyes, the trembling of her voice—boy, I must have been in a worse condition than I had thought. Rori confirmed my worries at once. "Don't you dare die, Alistair," she whispered, wiping her snotty nose with her sleeve.

Zevran danced around the Hurlock like a dervish, slicing at the back of his knees to send him to the ground. He knelt there, clotted blood blinding him, his large body trembling as he turned his head from side to side, trying to sense the assassin. His fist curled around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white, and he became very still, not making a single sound but for his ragged breathing. Zevran approached him, his face marked by his grief and the agony of his overwhelming sadness. I had seen these signs before when looking into the mirror. Suri would never return and the emptiness she left behind would always haunt those who loved her.

The elf crossed his swords in front of him as he stood in front of the unmoving Hurlock, still clutching his weapon tightly. Zevran didn't look at him, but instead at me when he in one swift motion sliced his blades across the Hurlock's throat the same moment the darkspawn drove his sword upwards, running it through the elf's abdomen. The elf never saw it coming. It all happened so fast; Rori's and my cries of alarm came too late. Zevran groaned, staring down at his belly and the hilt sticking out of it in mere disbelief. He turned in circles twice, swaying heavily. His hands clutched the hilt of the sword, pulling at it weakly. Then suddenly all signs of pain and fear were wiped off his face. A broad warm and loving smile formed around his lips as his eyes caught sight of something only he could see in the distance. "Suri," he breathed, reaching out for someone to embrace. Then he collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground. His eyes wide open, a smile adorned his face and happiness lay in his dead eyes that I had never seen there while he lived.

I don't really know what happened next. I lost consciousness and darkness swallowed me like the grey waves of a storm-beaten sea. I could have sworn Suri was there. Zevran, too. I could hear their laughter in the distance...

Now, what is left to say? Rori and I were saved. We were found by her uncle and the lady SWAT team moments after I had passed out and Wynne cursed like a sailor while she and Fiona revived me. Angus MacEanraig was so impressed that he asked Wynne to marry him. And over my cold almost dead body Wynne accepted. When I awoke, Wynne's anger hadn't settled a bit and I got seriously scolded for nearly getting killed—again—as if this had been all my fault. She got even madder at me when, one week after the battle of Amaranthine, I asked both her and Fiona for another magical boost as someone had to go and slay the Mother in her lair and the surviving Wardens hardly seemed capable of taking on the confrontation. Neither Wynne nor Fiona and most of all not Rori wanted to hear any of it, though. In the end, Fiona and Leliana joined the Wardens who had survived the siege of Vigil's Keep to help them with the Mother—a formerly human broodmother with many, many nipples, a detail I came to know thanks to Warden Commander Oghren later reporting on her defeat.

Thanks to my new laws according the freedom of mages Wynne became Lady MacEanraig and thus somewhat a member of my family. I had always thought of Wynne as some kind of granny stand-in. Now I could officially call her Gran Wynne when she pinched my cheek and ruffled my hair. It was a boozy wedding on board of Angus's ship and the bride drunk her utterly proud groom under the table. Shale, Leliana and Rori were her bridesmaids both wearing identical dresses - although in Shale's case it was more a tent than a dress. Shale constantly kept asking if it was looking fat in its dress - until a seagull ruined it. From that point on Shale was to busy murdering birds as to waste any thoughts on its weight anymore.

We burried Zevran right next to Suri at the lake in the palace gardens. I owed him that much. He and Suri finally were together for good. It was a bittersweet ending for both of them.

After Franderel's and Bann Esmerelle's families had been stripped of all titles and lands, the other nobles became a bit less rebellious. They all wanted a piece of the pie, and thus tried very hard to butter me up so that I would favor them when choosing new banns. Their enthusiasm and loyalty lasted as long as it took me to hand Franderel's Denerim city estate over to Jane Wulff to found Ferelden's first university. Amaranthine became a free city ruled by a senate elected by the citizens and Bann Franderel's lands were given to my supporters, including the Chantry.

Six months after the battle of Amaranthine, Rori gave birth to a healthy little boy, Duncan, and a healthy little girl, Eleanor. Suddenly I had the family I had always dreamt of and never dared to hope I would ever have for real. The Maker really moves in mysterious ways.

Mrs. Couldry became the head of my royal secret service, collecting a whole lot of rather useful information that, during the years to follow, allowed me to avoid getting murdered five times and helped defend Denerim against a Venatori attack years later when a hole in the sky was making the Blight sound like a vacation.

Being king never became boring for sure. Most of the time I still loathed it, but Rori and the twins made it a whole lot easier to endure. Suri still held a place in my heart, but her death didn't suffocate me anymore.

So, if you ask me what became of the broken hearted? They found love anew, that's what they did.

Notes:

Thank you very much to all the readers, subscribers, kudo-givers, commentors who followed Alistair and Rori on their journey through this alternate universe. Your support means a lot to me.

This story now is over and I will continue writing part 2 of the Roristair series 'Hoping One Day We'll Make a Dream Last'.


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